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YOUTH  AND  THE 
NEW  WORLD 

ESSAYS  FROM  THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY 


EDITED  BY 

RALPH  PHILIP  BOAS 

Head  of  the  English  Department 
Central  High  School,  Springfield,  Mass. 


Atlantic 

BOSTON 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY  PRESS,  INC. 


PREFACE 

THE  purpose  of  this  book  is  to  acquaint  young  men  and 
women  with  some  of  the  problems  that  concern  America. 
Whether  these  problems  are  to  be  solved  even  partially  de 
pends,  in  no  small  degree,  upon  whether  youth  recognizes 
what  they  are,  before  they  lead  him  to  a  place  where  he  can 
only  wish  that  "he  might  have  known."  Man  is  master  of 
his  fate  only  when  he  holds  some  of  the  cards  in  his  own 
hand. 

It  is  hoped  that  this  book  will  be  of  special  use  in  those 
classes  in  English  composition  the  fundamental  purpose  of 
which  is  the  training  of  young  people  in  the  search  for  and 
the  presentation  of  ideas.  The  editor  has  found  in  his  own 
experience  in  the  teaching  of  English  composition  that 
students  write  best  when  they  are  stimulated  to  self- 
expression  by  ideas  that  seem  to  them  important  and 
pertinent  to  their  own  interests  and  ability. 

The  relation  of  youth's  new  time  to  the  experience  of  age; 
education,  which  for  so  many  years  is  his  major  interest; 
the  spirit  of  America,  and  especially  disputed  points  of 
economic  and  political  organization;  the  changing  nature  of 
our  population,  with  its  difficulties  of  adjustment  of  racial 
elements;  the  new  and  growing  importance  of  women  in 
the  state;  the  problem  of  international  organization;  and, 
finally,  the  importance  of  spiritual  values  —  these  are  the 
themes  which  the  essays  in  this  book  illustrate. 

Those  essays  have  been  chosen  which  seem  most  likely  to 
set  young  people  thinking,  to  challenge  them  to  hold  opin 
ions  of  their  own,  and  to  stimulate  them  to  a  search  for 
further  knowledge.  In  general,  it  is  presumed  that  the 

456122 


vi  PREFACE 

reader  has  already  some  point  of  contact  with  the  subject 
matter  of  the  essays;  that  in  no  case  is  the  material  intro 
ductory  to  completely  new  experience.  Indeed,  it  is  hoped 
that  one  of  the  chief  values  to  be  obtained  from  the  study 
of  these  essays  is  the  awakening  in  the  reader  of  the  realiza 
tion  that  he  often  plays  an  unconscious  part  in  the  settle 
ment  of  the  most  critical  problems  of  the  community.  As  a 
result  he  may,  perhaps,  be  impelled  to  take  an  active  part 
in  social  and  civic  life,  so  that  he  may  determine  the  condi 
tions  of  the  society  in  which  he  lives,  instead  of  being  a 
mere  pawn  in  the  game. 

The  editor  suggests  the  following  method  for  the  use  of 
this  book  in  the  English  classroom.  It  is,  of  course,  only 
one  of  many  possible  methods. 

Ask  the  students  to  read  a  single  essay,  or  a  group  of  re 
lated  essays.  The  first  exercise  should  be  an  attempt  to 
make  certain  that  the  student  really  knows  what  the  writer 
of  the  essay  is  talking  about.  Students  need,  above  every 
thing,  the  power  to  read  intelligently,  that  is,  with  the 
highest  possible  standard  of  accuracy.  The  essays  all  con 
tain  ideas  which  are  worthy  of  mastery  in  themselves. 
When  the  thought  of  the  essay  is  mastered,  comes  the 
time  for  discussion  of  everything  relevant :  style,  structure, 
method  of  approach,  truth  of  idea,  pertinency  of  idea,  ob 
jections,  appreciations,  illustrations.  Interested  students 
will  want  to  continue  reading  in  other  "Atlantic"  articles 
noted  in  the  bibliography,  or  in  books  and  magazines  which 
they  may  discover  for  themselves.  Mastery  of  content, 
then,  is  followed  by  discussion  of  content,  usually  oral. 
Then  comes  the  time  for  formal  composition,  oral  and 
written.  Let  the  students  bring  to  class  a  list  of  possible 
subjects  or  possible  problems.  Let  them  make  the  prob 
lems  definite  and  practical:  speeches  that  might  be  deliv 
ered  in  actual  life;  articles,  editorials,  leaflets,  pamphlets, 


PREFACE  vii 

work  that  might  be  published  in  a  real  newspaper  or  maga 
zine.  The  subjects  ought  to  cover  all  kinds  of  composi 
tion  :  exposition,  argument,  stories,  speeches,  descriptions, 
narrative  essays  and  sketches,  personal  essays,  poems,  ora 
tions.  When  the  united  class-effort  has  produced  a  large 
number  of  subjects,  "plenty  to  write  about,"  the  hardest 
task  of  the  teacher  is  done.  Students  will  usually  do  well 
enough  if  they  see  a  reason  for  writing  and  if  they  have 
"something  to  say." 

But  composition  is  not  necessarily  the  end.  This  kind  of 
work  leads  readily  enough  into  the  study  of  literature. 
These  essays  deal  with  themes  of  recurring  interest,  themes 
which  poets,  dramatists,  and  novelists  have  never  tired  of 
using.  Students  will  recognize  with  some  surprise,  and  not 
a  little  interest,  that  great  poets,  essayists,  and  all  the  rest, 
who  lived  in  other  days  and  in  other  lands,  have  written 
about  the  same  questions  which  men  write  about  in  the 
"  Atlantic  "  to-day.  And  this  is  to  say  nothing  of  the  pos 
sible  inculcation  of  the  habit  of  browsing  in  old  "  Atlantics  " 
and  devouring  new  ones  —  a  salutary  habit  productive  of 
the  "delight  and  instruction"  which  Horace  said  was  the 
end  and  aim  of  literature. 

The  editor  wishes  to  express  his  thanks  to  the  authors 
who  kindly  gave  him  permission  to  reprint  these  essays 
from  the  "Atlantic,"  to  Mr.  Ellery  Sedgwick,  the  editor  of 
the  "Atlantic,"  and  to  Mr.  Charles  Swain  Thomas,  the 
editor  of  the  Educational  Department  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  Press,  for  cordial  cooperation  and  indispensable 
assistance. 


YOUTH  AND  THE  NEW  WORLD 


INTRODUCTION 


THIS  book  is  for  young  people  who  intend  to  take  a  share 
in  life.  It  is  for  young  people  who  want  to  know  themselves 
and  their  time,  but  who  do  not  gird  at  principles  and  insti 
tutions  as  outworn,  just  because  they  are  old,  or  assume 
that  principles  and  institutions  are  right,  just  because  they 
are  novel.  Every  right-minded  young  man  or  woman  wants 
to  understand  the  point  of  view  of  his  elders,  and  to  profit 
by  their  experience;  but  he  wants  also  to  be  sure  that  he  is 
seeing  the  path  ahead. 

This  book  does  not  provide  a  complete  introduction  to 
what  men  are  thinking.  But  it  does  provide  an  introduc 
tion  to  some  of  the  most  important  questions  that  face  this 
and  the  next  generation  —  important  because  all  of  them 
have  affected  every  generation  of  which  we  have  record. 

In  all  times  youth  is  faced  with  the  problem  of  adjusting 
his  own  life,  principles,  pleasures,  and  hopes  to  the  accumu 
lated  experience  of  the  past  and  the  aims  and  wishes  of  his 
parents.  In  every  generation  men  have  to  face  the  problem 
of  education.  They  may  refuse  to  overhaul  old  systems, 
and  may  exalt  prejudices  and  customs  into  eternal  princi 
ples;  but  even  though  they  stagnate,  they  forge  one  more 
link  in  the  ever-present  question:  "How  shall  youth  be 
taught  what  the  world  knows?"  Every  generation  has  to 
face  questions  of  political  and  social  organization.  The 
principles  that  shall  guide  legislators,  executives,  and 
judges  are  fixed  in  their  general  nature,  but  in  specific  cases 
are  adjusted  to  public  opinion.  The  United  States  is 


INTRODUCTION 


fortunate  in  its  written  Constitution,  but  the  interpretation 
of  that  Constitution  varies  with  the  years.  Every  genera 
tion  must  settle  for  itself  the  principles  of  its  economic  life, 
the  relation  of  employer  to  employee,  the  responsibilities  of 
economic  power  to  the  state,  the  very  structure  of  economic 
life  itself.  Since  the  foundation  of  the  Union,  every  genera 
tion  has  had  to  face  the  fact  that  the  people  of  the  United 
States  come  from  varying  racial  stocks.  Problems  of  the 
relation  of  the  newcomer  to  the  old  citizen  have  always 
called  for  settlement.  Problems  of  international  adjust 
ment  have  always  been  present.  For  centuries  men  have 
endured  wars  and  remade  the  map  of  the  known  world,  in 
our  time  with  more  widely  reaching  effects  than  ever  before. 
The  place  of  women  in  political,  social,  and  economic  life  is 
a  recurring  problem,  at  no  time  so  insistent  as  in  our  day. 
And,  finally,  and  most  important  because  they  lie  at  the 
heart  of  the  whole  matter,  questions  of  religious  adjustment 
must  be  faced  by  every  generation.  These  problems  will 
not  be  settled  in  a  year  or  in  a  lifetime.  They  will,  perhaps, 
never  be  settled  while  men  are  men.  But  youth  must  face 
them  and  solve  what  he  can,  or  lead  the  blind  life  of  one 
driven  by  forces  of  which  he  is  only  dimly  aware,  chafing  at 
bonds  of  the  very  existence  of  which  he  is  only  vaguely 
conscious. 

II 

YOUTH   AND   AGE 

The  young  generation  is  rising  in  a  period  of  violent 
change  and  readjustment,  born  of  war  and  destruction. 
Old  standards  seem  to  have  vanished;  no  new  standards 
seem  to  have  developed.  To  him  who  loves  the  past,  the 
present  seems  to  be  racing  downhill.  The  older  generation 
charges  that  the  youth  of  to-day  is  careless,  heedless,  and 


INTRODUCTION  3 

callous.  It  maintains  that  modern  youth  knows  little  chiv 
alry  or  modesty;  that  it  has  little  respect  for  age  or  for 
achievement;  that  it  is  intent  only  upon  its  own  pleasures, 
and  that  these  pleasures  are  often  reckless  and  some 
times  shocking.  The  older  generation  sees  youth  driving 
automobiles  wildly,  dancing  disgracefully,  talking  slang- 
ily,  and  jibing  irreverently  at  parental  manners  and 
morals. 

The  older  generation  is  bewildered.  It  cannot  under 
stand  the  freedom  of  youth.  It  agrees  with  foreign  observ 
ers,  that  American  children  have  the  worst  manners  in  the 
world;  that  they  are  thoroughly  spoiled;  and  that,  intent 
upon  pleasure  and  oblivious  to  duty,  they  are  driving 
straight  to  destruction.  For  these  evils  they  offer  no  rem 
edy,  not  even  the  one  which  youth  is  first  to  suggest,  that 
..  laxity  of  manners  in  youth  can  most  easily  be  corrected  by 
firmness  of  control  by  parents.  Can  it  be  that  the  older 
generation  is  disintegrating  under  the  same  influences  that 
affect  youth? 

One  difficulty  with  the  whole  discussion  is  that  the  older 
generation  acts  as  both  judge  and  jury.  It  brings  the 
charges,  tries  the  culprit,  and  would  very  much  like  to  im 
pose  the  sentence,  if  it  could  think  of  one  suitable.  Even 
were  youth  allowed  to  testify  in  its  own  behalf,  poor  youth 
would  be  at  the  disadvantage  of  never  having  known  its 
parents  wrhen  they,  too,  were  a  younger  generation.  Time 
was  when  conservatives  shuddered  at  the  waltz  as  they 
now  shudder  at  the  fox-trot,  and  bemoaned  the  breaking 
down  of  all  bounds  and  barriers.  But  though  the  world  has 
changed  before,  it  never  has  changed  at  the  whirling  speed 
of  the  last  half-dozen  years. 

In  the  end  the  issue  simplifies  itself.  Be  it  good  or  bad, 
this  generation  is  our  generation,  and  cannot  be  anybody 
else's.  (The  task  of  youth  is  not  to  argue  but  to  create.  Its 


4  INTRODUCTION 

opportunity  is  tremendous,  nothing  less  than  the  chance  to 
erect  for  itself  in  a  plastic  time  its  own  standards  and  ideals. 
In  most  periods  the  creative  desire  of  youth  has  to  fight 
repression  and  prejudice;  to-day  the  older  generation  begs 
of  youth  only  that  it  be  creative,  and  that  it  do  not  waste 
its  energy  in  purposeless  living. 

The  real  issue  then  is  this:  are  young  people  of  to-day 
sufficiently  self-reliant  to  be  masters  of  their  own  age  and 
to  work  out  their  own  ideals?  If  they  intend  to  face  this 
issue  they  must  take  the  advice  of  the  old  Greek,  "Know 
thyself."  Youth  cannot  travel  very  far  until,  to  some  ex 
tent  at  least,  it  knows  where  it  is  weak  and  where  it  may 
become  strong.  And,  most  important  of  all,  youth  must 
know  the  best  of  the  past.  The  wisest  man  is  not  he  who 
suggests  most  new  things,  but  he  who,  building  upon  the 
firm  foundation  of  the  past  and  making  full  use  of  tried 
principles,  best  helps  to  readjust  the  world  in  which  he 
lives  to  new  times  and  new  conditions. 


Ill 

EDUCATION 

Men  have  been  more  interested  in  education  during  these 
last  years  than  they  have  been  for  many  generations.  Old 
systems  need  overhauling.  Some  parts  will  have  to  be 
scrapped,  so  many  believe;  others  would  like  to  scrap 
everything. 

The  problem  of  modern  education  has  been  growing 
.more  complex  with  the  increasing  complexity  of  modern 
life.  Sixty  years  ago,  men  were  not  greatly  worried  about 
education.  Most  children  learned  reading,  writing,  and 
arithmetic,  and  some  geography  and  history.  Many  never 
went  to  school  at  all;  many  went  only  a  small  part  of  the 


INTRODUCTION  5 

year.  Every  boy  and  girl  learned  as  many  things  outside  of 
school  as  inside.  If  a  child  lived  in  the  country,  he  did  doz 
ens  of  chores,  and  he  learned  about  plants  and  animals  in 
the  fields  and  woods.  A  boy  helped  his  father  with  the 
farming;  a  girl  helped  her  mother  with  the  housework. 
The  city  boy  lived  within  an  hour's  walk  of  real  country, 
which  hardly  knew  that  the  city  existed  except  as  it  pro 
vided  a  market  for  produce  and  a  centre  for  trading.  Now 
there  seem  to  be  comparatively  few  boys  and  girls  on  farms, 
and  those  who  are  there  know  the  city  better  than  they 
know  the  woods.  City  children,  confined  in  flats  and  apart 
ment  houses,  have  no  wood  to  chop,  no  gardens  to  weed,  no 
cows  to  milk,  no  hens  to  feed.  If  they  are  to  learn  anything 
about  the  world  that  feeds  them,  clothes  them,  and  warms 
them,  they  must  learn  it  out  of  books.  Now  more  children 
go  to  school  for  more  weeks  of  the  year;  and  parents, 
alarmed  at  what  children  do  not  know,  demand  that  the 
schools  teach  more  and  more  subjects. 

Knowledge  has  increased  immensely  during  the  last 
sixty  years.  New  sciences  have  risen,  new  languages  and 
literatures  have  been  discovered,  new  histories  have  been 
unearthed.  With  the  enormous  extension  of  business  and 
the  growth  of  great  manufacturing  plants,  dozens  of  new 
professions  have  risen.  The  chemist,  the  biologist,  the 
teacher,  the  accountant,  the  sales-manager,  the  sanitary 
engineer,  the  road-builder,  and  dozens  of  others  demand 
special  training.  The  boy  who  is  going  into  business  wants 
a  business  education ;  the  girl  who  expects  to  marry  wants 
training  in  home  economics.  The  old  professions,  medicine, 
law,  and  the  ministry,  have  vastly  extended  their  range. 
Meanwhile  the  old  "liberal"  education,  the  training  in 
fundamentals,  —  mathematics,  languages,  history,  philos 
ophy,  science,  literature,  —  still  remains  as  the  core  of  our 
educational  system.  This  education  did  its  work  well,  and 


6  INTRODUCTION 

does  its  work  better  as  time  goes  on.  It  is  definite,  it  has  a 
firmly  based  tradition,  it  has  experienced  teachers,  and  it 
has  the  support  of  history  and  experience. 

And  yet  the  established  system  of  education  is  under 
going  violent  attack.  There  are  two  reasons. 

In  the  first  place,  the  old  education  did  not  aim  to  give 
boys  and  girls  immediate  practical  training  in  earning.  It 
assumed  that  people  had  other  things  to  live  for  than  a  job, 
other  moments  to  be  filled  than  the  hours  of  work.  And  so 
sometimes  it  failed  to  give  young  people  any  practical 
knowledge  whatever,  and  they  found  that  they  were  not 
ready  at  all  for  the  indispensable  task  of  earning  their 
living. 

In  the  second  place,  the  old  education  never  dreamed  of 
being  useful  to  everybody.  It  was  built  for  the  people  who 
could  use  it,  who,  at  any  rate,  thought  that  they  could  use 
it.  But  now  everybody  must  be  educated.  Americans  have 
decided  to  try  the  experiment  of  giving  everybody  an  edu 
cation,  from  the  baby  in  the  Montessori  kindergarten  to 
the  doctor  of  philosophy  in  the  graduate  school.  That  ex 
periment  means  that  education  must  fit  hundreds  of  differ 
ent  kinds  of  people.  It  must  fit  immigrant  children  who 
cannot  speak  English;  native-born  children  who  may  never 
have  to  earn  a  living;  all  sorts  of  children  who  must  earn 
their  living  as  soon  as  the  state  will  allow  them  to  leave 
school;  weak  children,  strong  children,  bright  children,  dull 
children;  children  who  come  from  homes  where  there  are 
books  and  magazines,  correct  speech,  and  courteous  man 
ners;  and  children  who  never  see  books  at  home,  hear  only 
incorrect  English,  and  know  only  the  manners  of  the  street. 

But  schools  move  slowly,  and  young  people  are  im 
patient.  Nor  do  teachers  agree.  Some  want  to  keep  as 
much  of  the  old  as  they  can ;  others  would  like  to  try  every 
novelty. 


INTRODUCTION  7 

All  current  educational  questions,  however,  can  be  re 
duced  to  a  few  issues.  How  much  of  the  old  education  is 
valuable  and  should  be  preserved?  How  many  of  the  new 
ideas  of  education  are  valuable  and  should  therefore  be 
adopted?  How  much  direct  training  should  be  given  to 
help  young  people  earn  their  living?  How  much  attention 
should  the  schools  pay  to  education  for  those  hours  when  a 
man  is  not  earning  his  living?  Is  securing  a  foundation  of 
liberal  training  more  valuable  than  a  plunge  into  business? 
How  can  schools  be  so  adjusted  that  individuals  who  do  not 
fit  into  groups  may  develop  freely?  How  can  education 
reach  those  who  cannot  go  to  school?  It  is  questions  like 
these  which  lie  at  the  heart  of  the  "  seven-and-seventy 
jarring  creeds"  of  educational  theorists. 

While  the  world  changes,  education  will  change.  Young 
people  of  to-day  will  decide  the  education  of  to-morrow. 
To  do  your  task  intelligently  and  carefully  means  that  you 
must  understand  your  own  education  so  far  as  your  ex 
perience  allows.  You  must  know  the  ivhy's  as  well  as  the 
how's  of  school  and  college,  so  that  you  can  have  faith  in 
the  education  to  which  you  submit  yourselves. 

"Meanwhile  there  is  this  life  here.'*  Poor  as  it  is,  good 
as  it  is,  your  education  is  still  your  education.  Your  par 
ents  regard  it  as  the  greatest  gift  in  their  power;  it  costs 
more  than  any  other  one  civic  enterprise.  Are  you  making 
the  most  of  it? 

IV 

THE    LIFE    OF   THE    NATION 

The  United  States  has  known  two  great  periods  of  crisis. 
At  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  our  form  of  govern 
ment  was  decided  after  a  period  of  difficult  argument  and 
compromise.  In  the  sixties  of  the  nineteenth  century  was 


8  INTRODUCTION 

fought  a  great  civil  war,  to  determine  whether  the  union 
formed  under  the  Constitution  could  or  could  not  be  dis 
solved  at  the  will  of  the  states.  And  now  we  face  another 
crisis,  a  crisis  in  the  determination  of  our  national  ideals. 
We  are  in  the  process  of  defining  Americanism.  The  old  day 
of  individualism  is  past.  The  last  frontier  has  disappeared. 
New  social  and  industrial  questions  press  for  a  solution  — 
questions  bewildering  in  their  complexity,  searching  in 
their  penetration  to  the  very  roots  of  society.  A  dozen  new 
programmes  for  social  reconstruction  are  being  advocated, 
the  understanding  of  any  one  of  which  would  require 
months  of  study.  For  young  people  principles  are  more 
important  than  programmes;  an  understanding  of  facts  as 
they  are  in  this  country  is  more  important  than  framing 
constitutions  for  Utopia.  Americanism  is  in  process  of 
definition,  and  in  the  long  run  it  is  you  who  will  define  it. 
You  will  define  it  in  terms  of  social  life.  As  representatives 
of  this  generation,  you  will  have  to  settle  once  and  for  all 
whether  democracy  is  possible  in  social  relations.  You  will 
have  to  decide  whether  Americanism  means  that  a  com 
munity  shall  be  split  into  groups  heedless  of  each  other's 
existence  except  when  faced  by  common  danger,  or  that 
each  group  in  the  community  shall  be,  not  only  aware  of  the 
existence  of  another,  but  responsible  for  it  and  willing  to 
work  with  it.  The  problem  of  the  organization  of  the  com 
munity  for  mutual  helpfulness  in  solving  civic  problems  is 
the  basic  problem  of  social  democracy.  It  is  a  new  problem, 
for  it  is  only  within  the  memory  of  living  men  that  groups 
in  American  communities  have,  to  any  serious  extent,  be 
come  rigidly  specialized.  Now  we  have  an  employing  class 
and  an  employed  class,  an  educated  class  and  an  unedu 
cated  class,  a  rich  class  and  a  poor  class,  a  leisure  class  and 
a  working  class,  a  skilled  class  and  an  unskilled  class.  The 
Americanism  of  the  future  must  decide  whether  it  wants 


INTRODUCTION 


. 

"class-consciousness"  or  "community-consciousness."  In 
these  days  of  transition  are  being  started  the  forces  that 
will  quietly  but  inevitably  work  out  the  democracy  of  the 
future. 

And  you  will  define  Americanism  in  terms  of  political 
life.  We  are  a  nation  of  over  100,000,000  people,  and  we 
govern  ourselves.  It  is  obvious  that  some  knowledge  of  the 
elaborate  and  intricate  machinery  of  popular  governmenf 
is  necessary,  if  one  would  do  more  than  blindly  cast  a  vote. 
Whether  voters  have  knowledge  or  not,  however,  our 
political  organization  will  be  constantly  readjusted  to  new 
conditions.  Our  party  system,  the  quality  of  the  men  who 
run  for  office,  the  kind  of  citizens  who  are  allowed  to  vote  — 
as  the  country  grows,  these  matters  call  constantly  for  at 
tention.  The  government  of  an  American  city  means  the  I 
administration  of  a  huge  cooperative  business  enterprise,  j. 
The  political  Americanism  of  the  future  will  be  defined  in  ) 
terms  of  such  enterprises.  It  will  have  concrete  application, 
not  only  to  city  governments,  but  to  every  department  and 
function  of  civic  life.  Every  Congress  elected,  every  law 
passed,  every  amendment  to  the  Constitution,  forge  links 
in  political  democracy.  For  Americanism  is  no  theory  or 
ideal,  but  the  spirit  of  America  embodied  in  the  practical 
working  out  of  political  and  social  institutions. 

But,  after  all,  you  will  discover  that  men  accept  American 
political  conditions  without  much  question.  You  will  find 
a  much  harder  task  when  you  come  to  define  America  in 
terms  of  economic  conditions.  For  here  you  come  face  to 
face  with  the  daily  life  about  you.  The  laborer  swinging 
his  pickaxe,  the  machinist  bending  over  his  lathe,  the  farmer 
plodding  behind  his  cultivator,  the  grocer  "putting  up 
orders,"  the  executive  surrounded  by  stenographers  and 
secretaries,  coin,  banks,  bills,  checks,  strikes,  lockouts, 
unemployment,  chambers  of  commerce,  labor-unions,  agi- 


10  INTRODUCTION 

tators  on  street-corners,  luxury,  hunger,  waste,  thrift  — 
all  these  and  a  hundred  other  phenomena  of  the  daily 
workaday  life  challenge  your  knowledge.  What  are  these 
throngs  of  people  passing  by,  this  welter  of  machinery  and 
organization,  these  dark,  gloomy,  lined  faces,  these  bright, 
happy,  ambitious  faces?  Where  did  they  come  from? 
Where  are  they  going?  Have  they  always  been  so?  Is  any 
one  planning  a  change,  dreaming  a  change,  fighting  a 
change?  Where  does  our  food  come  from?  How  do  we  pay 
for  it?  Why  do  prices  rise  and  fall?  Why  do  people  worry 
about  earning  a  living?  How  are  you  going  to  earn  a  living? 
Who  earns  your  living  now?  What  should  you  do  if  you 
had  to  "go  to  work"  to-morrow?  There  is  nothing  more 
fascinating  than  the  exploration  of  our  daily  life,  so  com 
monplace  and  so  complex.  Can  you  unravel  some  of  the 
secrets  of  the  workaday  world?  They  lie  about  you  in  the 
very  room  in  which  you  read  this.  The  paper  on  which 
these  words  are  printed  is  the  outcome  of  a  whole  history 
of  economic  forces,  processes,  inventions,  hopes,  dreams, 
achievements. 

And  emerging  from  this  welter  of  economic  forces  is  the 
most  insistent  question  in  the  life  about  us,  the  question  of 
the  relation  of  men  to  their  work.  The  "industrial  revolu 
tion,"  which  began  with  the  last  century,  is  at  the  height 
of  its  tide.  More  and  more,  individualism  has  passed  away, 
until  now  no  man  can  earn  his  living  independently  of  his 
fellow  men.  The  manufacturer  is  dependent,  not  only  upon 
the  labor  that  he  employs,  but  upon  the  labor  that  mines 
coal  and  runs  the  railways.  Huge  combinations  of  labor 
and  capital  have  arisen,  until  at  times  it  seems  as  if  men 
were  mere  servants  of  the  machines  and  the  institutions 
they  have  created. 

The  new  generation  faces  the  problem  of  industrial  free 
dom  —  that  is,  of  such  adjustment  in  industrial  affairs  that 


INTRODUCTION  11 

it  shall  not  be  the  slave  of  money,  machines,  or  combinations 
either  of  labor  or  of  capital;  that  it  shall  have  the  chance  to 
earn  its  living  under  conditions  which  will  respect  its  health 
and  its  personality;  that  industry  shall  be  so  ordered  that 
the  joy  of  human  creation  and  personal  creation  shall  not 
be  stifled ;  and  that  each  man  who  works  with  his  hands  or 
with  his  brains  shall  receive  his  full  share  of  what  he  pro 
duces.  A  stupendous  problem,  in  the  solving  of  which 
there  is  opportunity  for  stupidity,  arrogance,  bigotry,  and 
shallow  thinking,  but  opportunity  too  for  unselfishness, 
fairmindedness,  and  the  highest  constructive  thinking. 

But  industrial  problems  are  not  all-important.  You 
cannot  define  Americanism  without  taking  into  account 
the  problem  of  the  immigrant.  We  are  a  nation  of  mixed 
ancestry,  faced  now  more  than  ever  with  the  creation  of  a 
common  speech  and  a  common  ideal.  The  smallest  town 
has  its  "immigrant  problem,"  its  problem  of  assimilation 
into  community  life  of  newcomers  alien  in  blood,  language, 
and  tradition.  The  admission  of  aliens  into  America,  their 
distribution  in  America,  their  place  in  industry,  their 
influence  upon  American  customs  and  habits,  and,  above 
all,  the  preservation  of  their  best  ideals  and  their  assimila 
tion  of  our  best  ideals  —  these  are  matters  vitally  affecting 
the  future  development  of  the  American  spirit. 

And  now  you  are  ready  for  a  better  knowledge  of  what  it 
means  to  be  a  citizen  of  the  United  States,  of  what  issues 
must  be  decided,  what  roads  must  be  opened,  what  wrongs 
must  be  righted,  what  prejudices  must  be  jarred  loose, 
what  old  ideals  must  be  strengthened,  what  new  ideals 
must  be  built.  America  is  deciding  her  future,  the  future  in 
which  you  must  live.  Will  you  be  "master  of  your  fate"? 


12  INTRODUCTION 


INTERNATIONAL  RELATIONS 

The  new  generation  bears  upon  its  shoulders  the  burden 
of  peace,  the  burden  of  readjustment  of  boundaries,  of 
economic  life,  of  international  organization.  For  a  time 
the  world  may  quietly  settle  down  to  the  business  of  living; 
but  beneath  the  inactivity  of  the  usual,  the  nations  will,  as 
in  times  past,  be  making  ready  for  change  and  reorganiza 
tion.  The  problem  of  the  new  generation  is  to  find  a  means 
whereby  those  changes,  when  they  come,  may  be  accom 
plished  without  the  medium  of  war.  Meanwhile,  and  per 
haps  for  many  years,  the  world  is  in  tumult.  The  rising 
generation  must  steer  America  through.  No  longer  is  isola 
tion  possible.  American  provincialism  is  gone,  and,  whether 
we  will  or  not,  we  must  share  in  the  troubles  of  European 
civilization. 

The  international  complexities  of  our  time  are  not  wholly 
European.  South  and  Central  America  are  growing  in 
wealth  and  power.  Their  relations  to  the  United  States 
will  have  to  be  revised.  Japan  is  rising  in  the  Far  East.  As 
her  empire  grows,  international  good-feeling  will  be  inevit 
ably  strained,  and  all  the  good-will  and  patience  of  the 
world  will  be  called  into  use.  India  and  China,  Russia  and 
Germany,  Ireland  and  Mexico  —  all  these,  and  many  other 
countries,  will  require  of  the  new  generation  knowledge, 
understanding,  judgment,  foresight. 

In  the  past,  nations  have  not  prized  international  know 
ledge;  they  have  left  to  a  few  men  the  management  of  in 
ternational  affairs.  In  the  years  to  come,  a  few  men  will 
still  have  to  manage  these  affairs,  but  they  must,  if  the 
world  is  not  to  be  destroyed  by  war,  know  that  behind 
them  is  knowledge  and  understanding,  to  which  they  will 


INTRODUCTION  IS 

be  held  accountable.  To  build  up  this  knowledge  is  the 
task  of  youth,  to  build  up  a  realization  that  modern  civil 
ization  is  inextricably  interwoven  into  a  society  of  nations, 
voluntary  or  involuntary. 

Questions  of  international  relations  students  cannot  dis 
cuss  as  they  can  those  questions  which  lie  close  to  their 
daily  experience.  Here  they  must  acquire  information, 
learn  facts,  avoid  broad  generalizations,  and  remember  that 
foreign  nations  are  composed  of  individuals,  not  of  execu 
tives  and  diplomats,  and  that  these  individuals  are  men  of 
like  "dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions"  to  them 
selves.  But  they  must  also  remember  that  these  men  have 
histories  and  backgrounds  different  from  those  of  the 
United  States,  and  that  all  the  world  is  not  willing  to  sub 
mit  to  our  form  of  political  organization.  The  man  who 
attempts  to  remould  the  world  to  his  heart's  desire  will 
bring  misery  to  the  world  and  disappointment  to  himself. 
The  true  international  statesman  is  he  who  recognizes  that 
real  service  lies  in  helping  others  to  help  themselves  within 
their  own  conditions  and  limitations,  different  though  they 
be  from  his  own  way  of  life. 

VI 

THE  NEW  POSITION  OF  WOMEN 

The  new  position  of  women  is  not  a  matter  of  suffrage  or 
of  "rights."  It  is  not  a  matter  of  argument.  It  is  a  fact. 
Women  are  now  entering  new  fields  of  economic  and  politi 
cal  life.  They  are  earning  their  living  in  ways  once  thought 
improper;  they  are  sharing  in  the  responsibilities  of  the 
community  in  ways  once  thought  impossible.  Argument  as 
to  the  right  and  wrong  of  the  new  position  of  women  does 
not  alter  the  fact  that  it  is  here,  and  that  it  has  become  a 
matter  to  reckon  with  in  any  attempt  to  understand  the 
complex  organization  of  modern  life. 


14  INTRODUCTION 

The  new  generation  cannot  wholly  know  the  barriers  of 
custom  and  tradition,  which  women  had  to  break  down 
before  they  attained  their  new  position.  They  cannot  fully 
realize  how  an  apparently  resistless  movement  was  pre 
ceded  by  a  long  period  of  advocacy  of  bitterly  fought 
principles.  They  cannot  fully  visualize  the  organization  of 
the  old  society,  where  the  position  of  women  was  so  differ 
ent  from  what  it  is  now. 

And  yet  they  are  faced  with  a  hundred  new  problems, 
which  are  the  legacy  from  those  old  conditions.  It  is  true 
that  these  problems  face  mature  men  and  women  with  more 
insistence  than  young  people.  Still  young  people  can  pre 
pare  for  the  experiences  which  are  to  come  later.  They  can 
try  to  re-create  in  their  minds  a  picture  of  the  old  society 
and  the  share  that  women  had  in  it.  They  can  form  that 
picture  from  their  reading  and  from  talks  with  their  par 
ents.  They  can  try  to  understand  the  revolt  from  the  old 
conditions.  They  can  come  to  know  the  vigorous  personal 
ities  who  led  that  revolt.  They  can  try  to  understand  the 
principles  and  programmes  of  the  new  movement  as  it 
developed:  how  people  fought  over  questions  of  woman 
suffrage,  and  hardly  noticed  the  silent  change  that  was 
taking  place  in  economic  life.  They  can  find  out  what 
work  women  are  doing  to-day,  what  influence  they  have, 
what  movements  they  are  engaged  in,  what  they  intend  to 
do,  to  what  degree  they  consciously  plan  group-action. 
And  with  some  of  this  information  in  hand,  they  can  at 
tempt  to  weigh  good  and  bad,  to  try  to  find  out  to  what 
extent  the  new  is  desirable  and  better  than  the  old.  What 
have  women  lost  by  the  change?  what  have  they  gained? 
what  things  are  good?  what  are  bad? 

Most  important  of  all,  students  will  have  to  decide  their 
own  attitude  toward  this  part  of  life.  Every  girl  will  have 
to  take  a  share  in  new  responsibilities,  powers,  and  oppor- 


INTRODUCTION  15 

tunities;  every  young  man  will  have  to  understand  that  in 
the  coming  years  women  will  not  quietly  follow  men,  but 
will  insist  upon  as  free  and  genuine  a  partnership  with  men 
as  they  can  command. 

VII 

RELIGION   AND    PERSONAL   LIFE 

Behind  the  problems  of  the  community  stand  the  prob 
lems  of  the  individual.  And  though  it  is  true  that  the  day 
has  passed  when  individual  righteousness  can  be  urged  as 
the  only  solution  of  civic  problems,  since  individual  right 
eousness,  to  be  effective,  must  be  transmuted  into  civic 
action,  yet  we  are  all  too  ready  to  forget  that  as  "the  man 
on  the  street"  is,  so  in  the  long  run,  in  spite  of  leaders  and 
prophets,  will  the  community  be. 

Of  all  the  personal  problems  which  affect  the  community, 
the  problem  of  religious  belief,  affiliation,  and  action  is  the 
greatest.  European  civilization  is  based  upon  a  religious 
interpretation  of  life;  and  nearly  every  group  that  came  to 
America  was  either  actuated  by  religious  impulses  or  was 
strongly  marked  by  religious  faith.  The  problem  of  the 
new  world  is  to  decide  what  to  do  with  the  religion  of  its 
fathers,  the  religion  which,  too  often,  it  has  forgotten  or 
abandoned. 

It  is  not  a  question  of  church-attendance  or  church-sup 
port  which  youth  faces;  it  is  a  question  of  outlook  upon  life, 
of  personal  belief,  and  of  action  based  upon  that  belief. 
Shall  religion  survive  as  a  dynamic  force  in  American  life? 
Fixing  blame  for  its  present  decline  does  not  help  the 
matter.  The  question  is  one  of  action.  Are  young  people 
going  to  neglect  religious  forces  as  guides  of  We?  Can  they 
develop  new  forces,  which  will  do  for  society  what  the  old 
ones  did?  What  is  the  hope  for  religion  in  America?  Are 


16  INTRODUCTION 

we  doomed  to  a  century  of  groping  after  truth  through 
novel  cults  and  vague  emotionalisms?  Or  are  the  faiths 
which  have  survived  for  many  centuries  to  remain,  rising 
triumphant  over  change  and  wandering,  firm  in  their  vision 
of  truth? 

These  are  hard  questions.  And  yet  they  must  be  an 
swered  if  we  are  to  be  our  own  masters.  For  when  all  is  said 
and  done,  this  remains  —  that  the  life  of  the  spirit  endures, 
and  in  the  long  run  men  are  wise,  just,  merciful,  and  up 
right,  not  as  they  fear  punishment  and  hope  for  reward, 
but  as  they  share  to  some  extent  in  the  Eternal  spirit  of 
wisdom  and  virtue. 


THE  OTHER  SIDE 

MARGARET    SHERWOOD 

LIKE  every  other  attentive  reader  of  our  periodical  lit 
erature,  I  am  increasingly  aware  of  our  persistent  exposure 
of  sin  and  wrong-doing  in  high  places  and  in  low;  like  many 
another  attentive  reader,  I  am  growing  a  bit  rebellious 
against  this  constant  demand  and  supply  in  the  matter  of 
information  regarding  recent  evil.  Have  we  not  grown  over- 
alert  in  the  search  for  this  special  kind  of  news?  We  take 
vice  with  our  breakfast  porridge;  perjury  with  our  after- 
dinner  coffee;  our  essayists  vie  with  one  another  in  seeing 
who  can  write  up  the  most  startling  story  of  crime;  and  it  is 
a  bankrupt  family  nowadays  that  cannot  produce  one  mem 
ber  to  expose  civic  or  political  corruption.  Undoubtedly 
much  genuine  ethical  impulse  lies  back  of  all  this;  undoubt 
edly,  too,  much  of  the  picturesque  and  spectacular  treat 
ment  springs  from  a  desire  to  startle,  and  ministers,  in 
many  a  reader  who  would  scorn  paper-covered  fiction,  to  a 
love  of  the  sensational.  Surely  it  must  seem  to  the  people 
of  other  countries  that  we  take  pride  in  the  immensity  of 
our  sins,  as  we  take  pride  in  Niagara,  in  the  length  of  the 
Mississippi,  in  the  extent  of  our  western  plains. 

Many  may  be,  and  must  be,  the  good  effects  of  throwing 
the  searchlight  upon  dark  places;  but  the  constant  glare  of 
the  searchlight  bids  fair  to  rob  us  of  our  normal  vision  of 
life.  My  poor  mind  has  become  a  storehouse  of  misdeeds 
not  my  own.  I  am  sick  with  iniquity;  I  walk  abroad  under 
the  shadow  of  infamy,  and  I  sup  with  horrors.  I  shrink 
from  meeting  my  friends  —  not  that  they  are  not  the  best 
people  in  the  world,  but  I  dread  lest  they  pour  into  my  ears 


18  THE  OTHER  SIDE 

some  newly  acquired  knowledge  of  wrong-doing.  For  me, 
as  for  others,  the  sun  of  noonday  is  clouded  by  graft,  brib 
ery,  treachery,  and  corruption;  and  I  fear  to  close  my  eyes 
in  the  dark  because  of  the  pictured  crimes  that  crowd  be 
fore  them.  Suppose  poor  Christian  had  had  to  drag  after 
him,  not  only  his  own  bag  of  transgressions,  but  those  of 
Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman,  Mr.  Facing-both-ways,  and  all  the 
denizens  of  Vanity  Fair,  what  chance  would  he  ever  have 
had  of  getting  out  of  the  Slough  of  Despond? 

It  is  not  that  I  wish  to  shirk;  I  am  not  afraid  of  facing 
anything  that  I  ought  to  know,  and  I  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt  that  we  are  all,  in  great  measure,  responsible  for  our 
neighbors'  sins.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  we  are  taking  the 
wisest  way  to  mend  them.  It  seems  to  me  incontestable 
that,  with  the  large  issues  of  individual  and  of  national  well- 
being  in  mind,  we  are  overdoing  the  exposure,  and  slighting 
the  incentives  to  right  action;  emphasizing  the  negative  at 
the  expense  of  the  positive;  and  that,  with  our  weakening 
convictions  regarding  the  things  that  are  right,  it  is  danger 
ous  to  go  on  loudly  proclaiming  the  things  that  are  wrong. 
We  are  much  in  the  position  of  a  village  improvement 
society  which  has  pulled  down  a  bridge  because  it  is  rotting, 
and  is  impotent  to  build  another  and  a  better.  We  have 
invested  our  national  all  in  wrecking  machinery,  and  have 
nothing  left  for  constructive  tools.  It  is  said  that  in  our  ex 
plosive  setting  forth  of  civic  and  national  wrong-doing,  we 
are  all  too  prone  to  stop  with  the  explosion,  as  if  mere  know 
ledge  of  these  things  would  set  them  right.  Mere  knowledge 
never  yet  set  anything  right;  only  the  ceaselessly  active, 
creative  will  can  fashion  a  world  of  law  out  of  chaos. 

Of  the  criticism  often  made  that  exposure  of  wrong  should 
be  followed,  more  closely  than  is  done  here,  by  constructive 
action,  if  anything  is  to  be  really  effected,  it  is  not  my  task 
to  speak.  The  aspect  of  the  matter  which  interests  me  es- 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  19 

pecially  concerns  the  youth  of  the  land;  it  is  the  educational 
aspect.  Not  through  loud  wailing  over  evil  can  a  nation  be 
built,  but  through  resolute  dwelling  with  high  ideals.  In  j 
certain  ugly  tendencies  of  recent  years  among  the  young, 
as,  for  instance,  the  unabashed  sensuality  of  much  of  the 
modern  dancing,  may  we  not  detect,  perhaps,  a  cynical 
assumption  that  life  is  at  basis  corrupt  —  a  natural  result 
of  continued  harping  on  evil  things,  and  of  failure  to  keep 
before  them  images  of  moral  beauty?  Our  magazine  writ 
ers  would  be  far  better  employed,  if,  instead  of  making  our 
ears  constantly  resound  with  reports  of  civic  iniquities, 
they  were,  part  of  the  time  at  least,  studying  Plato's  "Re 
public,"  and  filling  mind  and  soul  with  the  hope  of  the  per 
fect  state.  Wrong  things  we  dare  hope  are  of  small  and 
fleeting  consequence  as  compared  with  the  right;  it  is 
not  the  sin  of  Judas  Iscariot,  but  the  righteousness  of  his 
Master,  that  has  brought  the  human  race  a  gleam  of  hope 
and  possible  redemption.  When  I  was  told,  not  long  ago, 
of  a  student  in  one  of  our  great  universities  who  had  elected 
"  Criminology  16,"  I  could  not  help  reflecting  that  he  might 
far  better  have  taken  Idealistic  Philosophy  1. 

Whether  or  not  our  study  of  evil  should  be  lessened,  our 
study  of  the  good  needs  to  be  vastly  strengthened.  We  are 
losing  the  vision!  "  Your  old  men  shall  dream  dreams,  your  ( 
young  men  shall  see  visions,"  said  the  prophet,  in  promising  1 
wonders  in  the  heavens  and  in  the  earth,  after  his  account  ' 
of  fasting,  weeping,  mourning,  and  beating  the  breast. 
There  is  a  time  for  beating  the  breast  and  for  tearing  the 
hair,  and  of  this  we  have  had  our  day;  but  perpetual  sitting 
upon  the  ash-heap  and  howling  will  not  raise  the  walls  of 
state.   Sitting  there  may,  in  time,  even  become  a  luxury; 
can  it  be  that  we  are  doing  so  much  of  it  partly  because  it 
is  easier,  and  because  the  heaven-sent  task  of  building  up 
and  shaping  is  too  hard  for  us? 


20  THE  OTHER  SIDE 

Take  away  from  youth  the  power  of  seeing  visions,  of 
dreaming  dreams,  and  you  take  away  the  future.  It  would 
behoove  us  to  remember,  perhaps,  that  the  eras  of  great 
deeds  have  not  been  eras  of  analysis,  but  eras  when  the 
creative  imagination  was  at  work.  Yet  our  modern  mental 
habit  is  overwhelmingly  a  habit  of  analysis,  for  which 
science,  in  teaching  us  to  pick  the  world  to  bits,  is  partly, 
though  not  wholly,  responsible.  It  has  brought  us  an  im 
mense  amount  of  interesting  information;  it  has  brought 
also  a  danger  whose  gravity  we  can  hardly  estimate,  in  the 
constant  lessening  of  the  synthetic  power.  The  power  to 
image,  to  fashion  high  ideals,  and  to  create  along  the  line  of 
the  imagining,  is  weakening,  instead  of  growing  more  strong. 
In  the  glorious  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  the  unparalleled 
days  .of  Periclean  Athens,  great  ideals  formed  themselves 
before  men's  eyes  and  great  achievements  followed;  emo 
tion,  hope,  vision,  shaped  human  nature  to  great  issues.  I 
wonder  what  influence  those  perfect  marble  representations 
of  perfect  form  had  upon  the  very  bodies  of  the  youths  and 
the  maidens  of  Athens,  what  creative  force  they  exercised 
-  the  imaginative  grasp  of  the  perfect  reaching  forward 
toward  perfectness  in  the  human  being.  I  wonder  what 
influence  the  character  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  alone,  with 
"high-erected  thoughts  seated  in  a  heart  of  courtesy,"  has 
had  upon  succeeding  generations  of  English  youth.  "A  man 
to  be  greatly  good,"  said  Shelley,  "must  imagine  intensely 
and  comprehensively." 

Here  my  quarrel  with  our  present  intellectual  trend  and 
our  present  system  of  education  becomes  more  acute.  We 
are  not  only  losing  the  habit  of  mind  that  fosters  idealism, 
but  we  are  more  and  more  breaking  with  the  past.  The 
door  of  that  storehouse  of  noble  thought  and  noble  example 
is  being  slowly  but  firmly  closed,  and  there  is  little  in  mod 
ern  teaching  that  can  meet  the  inroads  made  by  the  devas- 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  21 

tating  knowledge  of  evil  of  which  we  have  been  speaking; 
little  that  can  build  up  where  this  tears  down.  Study  of 
Greek  life,  with  its  incomparable  power  of  shaping  exist 
ence  toward  the  beautiful,  is  all  but  cast  aside;  most  unfor 
tunately  now,  when,  with  the  rush  of  ignorant  peoples  to 
our  shores,  it  might  have  a  far-reaching  potency  never  at 
tained  before.  The  ignorance  of  contemporary  youth  re 
garding  that  other  and  finer  loveliness  of  "Gospel  books" 
is  amazing.  More  and  more  we  are  stripped  of  the  humani 
ties;  the  incredulity  of  science  in  contemplating  philosophy, 
art,  literature,  as  part  of  the  educational  curriculum,  is  full 
of  menace.  There  has  never  been,  I  think,  in  the  history  of 
the  civilized  world,  a  time  when  people  were  so  anxious  to 
cast  off  the  past.  In  our  eager  Marathon  race  of  material 
and  physical  progress,  we  want  to  go  as  lightly  equipped 
as  possible.  The  aeroplane  carries  small  luggage;  our  light 
modern  mind  is  ever  ready  to  throw  overboard  even  its 
precious  heritage,  in  its  eagerness  for  swift  flight.  As  earlier 
days  have  reverenced  the  old,  we  reverence  the  new,  and 
are  all  too  insistently  contemporaneous. 

We  need,  as  we  never  needed  before,  a  broader  and  deeper 
study  of  history,  of  philosophy,  of  literature;  for  most  of 
our  young,  a  knowledge  of  the  mental  and  spiritual  past 
of  the  race  is  of  far  greater  importance  than  a  knowledge 
of  the  physical  past,  at  the  amoeba  stage,  or  any  other. 
Science,  much  as  it  can  do  for  us,  can  never  meet  our  deep 
est  need ;  the  world  of  imaginative  beauty  and  the  world  of 
ethical  endeavor  are  apart  from  its  domain.  It  has  no 
spring  to  touch  the  will,  yet  that  which  has,  the  magnificent 
inheritance  of  our  literature,  is  more  and  more  neglected 
for  the  latest  machinery  that  applied  science  has  devised, 
or  the  most  recent  treatise  on  insect,  bird,  or  worm.  It  is 
well  to  study  insect,  bird,  and  worm,  for  they  are  endlessly 
interesting;  but  I  maintain  that  neither  the  full  sum  of 


22  THE  OTHER  SIDE 

knowledge  concerning  them,  nor  even  the  ultimate  fact 
about  the  ultimate  star,  can  be  a  substitute  for  knowledge 
of  the  idealism  of  Thomas  Carlyle,  of  the  categorical  imper 
ative  of  Kant  —  for  that  study  of  the  humanities  which 
means  preserving,  for  the  upbuilding  of  youth,  that  which 
was  best  and  finest  in  the  past,  as  we  go  on  toward  the 
future. 

If  the  swift  retort  should  come,  from  those  who  think  the 
present  the  only  era  of  attainment  and  the  physical  world 
the  only  source  of  wisdom,  that  the  past  is  full  of  villainies, 
of  lapses  from  high  standards,  one  can  but  say  that,  for 
ethical  purposes,  our  study  should  be  frankly  a  selective 
study,  emphasizing  the  fine  and  high,  subordinating  the 
evil.  There  is  no  hypocrisy  in  such  selection;  there  is  delib 
erate  choice  of  the  higher  upon  which  to  dwell,  as  a  forma 
tive  power,  quickening  feeling  and  imagination.  I  have 
heard  it  said  that  a  woman,  by  resolute  dwelling  on  things 
noble  and  pure,  may  shape  the  inner  nature  of  her  unborn 
child,  and  I  have  faith  to  believe  it.  Even  so  should  the 
nation  yet  to  be  be  shaped  by  resolute  dwelling  on  the  good. 
It  was  not  all  cowardice,  as  many  a  present  writer  thinks, 
that  led  the  mothers  of  earlier  days  to  say  little  to  their 
sons  and  daughters  regarding  evil  things,  and  much  regard 
ing  right  things.  Doubtless  greater  frankness  would  have 
been  better,  yet  I  doubt  if  our  protracted  dwelling  on  the 
evil  will  produce  better  results. 

Should  anyone  object  that  this  emphasis  on  the  good 
means  suppression  of  the  truth,  we  can  but  reply  that,  for  the 
rational  soul,  the  truth  is  not  necessarily  the  mechanically 
worked-out  sum  of  all  the  facts.  That  we  have  forgotten 
the  distinction  between  fact  —  that  which  has  indeed  come 
to  pass,  but  which  may  be  momentary  —  and  truth,  which 
endures,  is  one  of  the  many  signs  of  what  William  Sharp 
calls  the  "  spiritual  degradation  "  of  our  time.  Much  of  our 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  23 

modern  thinking  and  teaching,  much  of  our  realistic  fiction, 
rests  upon  a  failure  to  make  the  distinction;  much  that  is 
indisputable  in  individual  instances  of  wrong-doing  may 
be,  thank  God!  false  in  the  long  run. 

"That  is  not  true,  scientifically  true,"  we  hear  often  in 
regard  to  some  fine  hope  or  aspiration  of  the  race;  but  in  the 
real  import  of  the  term  there  is  no  such  thing  as  scientific 
truth.  It  is  a  pity  that  a  word  of  such  profound  and  dis 
tinctive  meaning  should  come  to  be  more  and  more  exclu 
sively  identified  with  the  observation  of  physical  phenom 
ena,  and  the  formulation  of  physical  laws,  whereas  the  very 
root-meaning  of  the  word  true,  from  Anglo-Saxon  treowe, 
signifying  faithful,  gives  justification  for  the  idealist's  be 
lief  that  vital  truth  is  partly  a  matter  of  the  will,  not  of 
mere  perception  and  of  intellectual  deductions  drawn  there 
from.  We  have  need  of  deeper  truth  than  that  of  mere  fact; 
and  the  truth  that  shall  set  us  free  is  a  truth  of  choice,  of 
selection;  it  embraces  that  part  of  human  thought  and 
human  experience  which  is  worth  keeping. 

Faithfulness  to  the  best  and  finest  in  the  past  and  in  the 
present,  rather  than  horrified  gaping  at  the  present's  worst, 
is  the  attitude  that  means  continued  and  bettered  life;  for 
we  become  what  we  will.  What  are  we  offering,  in  the  way 
of  concrete  examples,  or  of  finely  expressed  thought  about 
virtue,  to  the  young,  to  the  ignorant  nations  that  are  pour 
ing  in  upon  us,  that  will  help  them  form  their  vision  of  the 
perfect?  With  our  narrowing  knowledge  of  the  greater  past, 
our  choice  of  heroes  becomes  more  and  more  local  and  na 
tional;  yet  our  hierarchy  of  sacred  dead  is  too  small  to  afford 
that  variety  of  heroic  action  and  heroic  choice  that  should 
always  be  kept  before  the  minds  of  youth.  We  teach  them 
that  George  Washington  never  told  a  lie;  we  teach  them 
something  —  and  there  could  be  nothing  better  —  of  Lin 
coln;  but  those  two  figures  are  lonely  upon  Olympus,  and 


24  THE  OTHER  SIDE 

the  great  tragic  story  of  the  way  in  which  Lincoln  faced  the 
greatest  crisis  in  our  history  will  not  alone  suffice  to  help 
the  everyday  citizen  shape  his  thought  and  action  toward 
constructive  idealism.  The  lesser  heroes  of  our  young  re 
public  have  acquitted  themselves  nobly  in  this  struggle 
and  in  that,  but  the  struggles  have  been  too  closely  akin  in 
nature  to  give  the  embryo  hero  that  breadth  and  depth  of 
nurture  that  he  requires.  We  need  an  enlarged  vision  of 
history,  and  the  sight  of  great  men  of  all  ages  faithful  to 
small  tasks  as  to  great;  we  need  the  companionship  of  he 
roes  of  other  times  and  of  other  nations,  and  not  of  military 
heroes  alone.  Saint  Francis  with  his  unceasing  tenderness 
to  man  and  beast,  Father  Damien  at  work  among  the  lepers, 
might  far  better  occupy  the  pages  of  our  magazines,  than 
'the  pictured  deeds  of  criminals  and  the  achievements  of 
contemporary  multi-millionaires. 

If  we  need  a  wider  range  of  concrete  examples  of  the  good, 
we  need  still  more  a  wider  range  of  nobly  expressed  ideals. 
Our  thought  grows  narrow ;  we  smother  for  lack  of  breath 
ing  space.  Benjamin  Franklin's  philosophy  was  far  from 
grasping  the  best  of  life,  yet  we  remember  him  better  than 
we  do  our  Emerson,  whose  plea  for  spiritual  values  as  the 
only  real  ones  is  lost  in  the  louder  and  louder  groaning  of 
the  wheels  of  our  machinery.  The  idealism  that  is  taught 
the  young  in  Sunday  schools  is  too  often  inextricably  bound 
up  with  unnecessary  theology;  and  many  and  many  a  pupil, 
in  discarding  the  latter,  discards  the  other  also.  The  ideal 
of  success  upheld  in  much  journalistic  admonition  is  often 
rather  mean  and  low;  the  young  of  this  country  need  no 
printed  incentives  to  urge  them  into  commercialism  and 
the  victories  of  trade.  The  best  influences  that  are  being 
brought  to  bear  upon  them  are  those  which  concern  social 
responsibilities  and  the  needs  of  the  poor.  Yet  all  this 
thought  and  endeavor  should  supplement  and  not  super- 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  25 

sede,  as  it  is  doing,  a  deep  concern  with  the  things  of  the 
spirit;  and  no  admonition  regarding  hygiene  for  one's  self 
or  others  is  a  substitute  for  — 

A  sense  sublime 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man; 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 

The  great  things  of  the  past  in  all  nations,  history  can 
teach  us;  the  possible,  both  literature  and  philosophy  can 
teach  us.  We  must  forego  no  noble  expression  of  idealistic 
faith,  lest  we  impoverish  our  own  souls,  and  beggar  those 
who  come  after  us.  The  pure  intellectual  passion  of 
Bacon's  "Advancement  of  Learning,"  the  noble  stoicism  of 
Marcus  Aurelius,  the  spiritual  vision  of  Plato,  of  Spenser, 
the  heroic  strain  of  Wordsworth's  "Liberty  Sonnets"  and 
of  his  "Happy  Warrior,"  Shelley's  ardent  and  generous 
sympathy,  Browning's  dynamic  spiritual  force,  should 
make  up  part  of  our  life  and  thought,  checking  our  insistent 
impulse  toward  mechanical  things,  and  correcting  the  evil 
within  and  without.  More  than  anything  else,  we  need  a 
revival  of  interest  in  great  poetry. 

"Now  therein  of  all  sciences,"  said  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  "is 
our  poet  the  monarch.  For  he  doth  not  only  show  the  way, 
but  giveth  so  sweet  a  prospect  into  the  way  as  will  entice  any 
man  to  enter  it.  ...  He  cometh  to  you  with  words  set  in 
delightful  proportion,  either  accompanied  with,  or  prepared 
for,  the  well-enchanting  skill  of  music;  and  with  a  tale,  for 
sooth,  he  cometh  unto  you,  with  a  tale  which  holdeth 
children  from  play,  and  old  men  from  the  chimney-corner, 
and,  pretending  no  more,  doth  intend  the  winning  of  the 
mind  from  wickedness  to  virtue." 


26  THE  OTHER  SIDE 

The  poet's  "  perfect  picture  "  of  the  good,  the  great  image, 
causes  noble  passion,  wakes  us  out  of  our  "habitual  calm/' 
and  stirs  us  almost  beyond  our  possibilities.  The  Imagina 
tion  is  the  miracle-working  power  in  human  nature;  through 
it  alone  can  the  human  soul  come  to  its  own.  Only  that 
which  is  fine  and  high  can  feed  it  aright,  while  baseness  can 
make  of  it  a  destructive  tool  of  terrible  power.  As  I  think 
back  to  childhood,  I  can  remember  the  devastating  effect 
that  one  tale  of  cruelty  had  upon  my  mind,  haunting  me  by 
day  in  vivid  pictures,  turning  my  dreams  to  horror,  and 
making  me,  while  the  obsession  lasted,  believe  that  the 
world  of  grown  folk  must  be  all  alike  cruel.  So,  too,  the 
compelling  vision  of  the  good  came  through  concrete  in 
stances;  and  the  people,  both  the  living  and  the  dead,  in 
whom  I  passionately  believed,  shaped  all  my  faith. 

The  imagination  of  youth  —  there  is  no  power  like  it,  no 
machine  that  can  equal  it  in  dynamic  force,  nothing  so  full 
of  power,  so  full  of  danger.  We  become  that  which  we  look 
upon,  contemplate,  remember;  it  is  for  this  that  I  dread  the 
ultimate  effect  of  the  long,  imaginative  picturing  of  our 
neighbor's  sins  now  presented  in  our  periodicals.  Images  of 
evil  can  hardly  help  dimming  and  tarnishing  the  bright 
ideals  of  youth;  is  there  no  way  —  with  all  our  modern  wis 
dom  can  we  find  no  way  —  of  limiting  our  exposure  of 
crime  to  the  people  who  can  be  of  service  in  helping  check 
it,  and  keeping  it  from  those  who  cannot  help,  but  can  only 
be  silently  hurt?  A  moment,  an  hour  of  some  fresh  vision, 
and  a  child's  destiny  is  perhaps  decided  for  good  or  for  ill. 
One  afternoon's  reading  of  Spenser  made  the  boy  Keats  a 
poet;  who,  knowing  the  potency  of  brief  experience  in  the 
flush  of  youth,  can  doubt  the  lasting  wrong  wrought  again 
and  again  by  the  sudden  shock  of  contact  with  things  evil? 

Many  images  of  wrong  must  of  necessity  come  to  the 
young;  let  them  not  be  multiplied  in  our  feverish  and  mor- 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  27 

bid  fashion  of  to-day.  Above  all,  let  them  be  crowded  out 
by  constant  suggestion  of  noble  images  and  noble  thought, 
which  will  work  both  consciously  and  subconsciously, 
shaping  the  dream  when  the  dreamer  is  least  aware.  To 
hold  up  before  the  ardent  and  impressionable  young  that 
which  they  may  become  in  strength,  in  purity,  would  surely 
be  better  than  placing  before  them  this  perpetual  moving- 
picture  show  of  our  civic  and  national  transgressions.  I  can 
but  believe,  as  I  read  article  after  article  of  exposure,  that 
this  continued  presentation  to  youth  of  the  unholy  side  of 
life,  with  our  increasing  tendency  to  make  education  a  mere 
matter  of  the  intellect  and  of  the  eye,  is  bound  to  lessen  the 
moral  energy  of  the  race.  Would  it  not  be  better  if  we  were 
more  diligent  in  searching  history,  philosophy,  literature, 
for  "whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are 
lovely,  whatsoever  things  are  of  good  report,"  and  in  bid 
ding  the  young  think  on  these  things? 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

CORNELIA   A.    P.    COMER 

FROM  the  dawn  of  time,  one  generation  has  cried  reproof 
and  warning  to  the  next,  unheeded.  "I  wonder  that  you 
would  still  be  talking.  Nobody  marks  you,"  say  the  young. 
"Did  you  never  hear  of  Cassandra?"  the  middle-aged 
retort. 

Many  of  you  young  people  of  to-day  have  not  heard  of 
Cassandra,  for  a  little  Latin  is  no  longer  considered  essen 
tial  to  your  education.  This,  assuredly,  is  not  your  fault. 
You  are  innocent  victims  of  a  good  many  haphazard  edu 
cational  experiments.  New  ideas  in  pedagogy  have  run 
amuck  for  the  last  twenty-five  years.  They  were  introduced 
with  much  flourish  of  drums;  they  looked  well  on  paper; 
they  were  forthwith  put  into  practice  on  the  helpless  young. 
It  has  taken  nearly  a  generation  to  illustrate  their  results  in 
flesh  and  blood.  Have  they  justified  themselves  in  you? 

The  rising  generation  cannot  spell,  because  it  learned  to 
read  by  the  word-method;  it  is  hampered  in  the  use  of  dic 
tionaries,  because  it  never  learned  the  alphabet;  its  English 
is  slipshod  and  commonplace,  because  it  does  not  know  the 
sources  and  resources  of  its  own  language.  Power  over 
words  cannot  be  had  without  some  knowledge  of  the  classics 
or  much  knowledge  of  the  English  Bible  —  but  both  are 
now  quite  out  of  fashion. 

As  an  instance  of  the  working-out  of  some  of  the  newer 
educational  methods,  I  recall  serving  upon  a  committee  to 
award  prizes  for  the  best  essays  in  a  certain  competition 
where  the  competitors  were  seniors  in  an  accredited  college. 
In  despair  at  the  material  submitted,  the  committee  was 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION     29 

finally  forced  to  select  as  "  best "  the  essay  having  the  fewest 
grammatical  errors  and  the  smallest  number  of  misspelled 
words.  The  one  theme  that  showed  traces  of  thought  was 
positively  illiterate  in  expression. 

These  deficiencies  in  you  irritate  your  seniors,  but  the 
blame  is  theirs.  Some  day  you  will  be  upbraiding  your  in 
structors  for  withholding  the  simple  essentials  of  education, 
and  you  will  be  training  your  own  children  differently.  It  is 
not  by  preference  that  your  vocabulary  lacks  breadth  and 
your  speech  distinction.  In  any  case,  these  are  minor  in 
dictments,  and,  when  all  is  said,  we  older  ones  may  well  ask 
ourselves  whether  we  find  our  minds  such  obedient,  soft- 
footed  servants  of  the  will  as  to  make  it  clear  that  the  edu 
cational  procedure  of  our  own  early  days  is  to  be  indorsed 
without  reserve. 

Your  seniors  also  find  themselves  irritated  and  depressed 
because  modern  girls  are  louder-voiced  and  more  bouncing 
than  their  predecessors,  and  because  their  boy  associates 
are  somewhat  rougher  and  more  familiar  toward  them  than 
used  to  be  thought  well  bred.  But  even  these  things,  dis 
tasteful  as  they  are,  should  not  be  the  ground  of  very  bitter 
complaint.  It  requires  more  serious  charges  than  these  to 
impeach  the  capacity  and  intentions  of  those  who  are  soon 
to  be  in  full  charge  of  this  world.  Every  generation  has  — 
with  one  important  abatement  —  the  right  to  fashion  its 
own  code  of  manners. 

The  final  right  of  each  generation  to  its  own  code  depends 
upon  the  inner  significance  of  those  manners.  When  they 
express  such  alterations  in  the  fibre  of  the  human  creature 
as  are  detrimental  to  the  welfare  of  the  race,  then,  and  per 
haps  then  only,  are  our  criticisms  completely  justified. 

From  the  generation  earlier  than  my  own  still  survive 
gentlewomen  who  are  like  old  lace  and  opals,  gentlemen  all 
compounded  of  consideration  and  courtliness.  Their  graces 


30      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

are  not  due  to  their  length  of  life,  but  to  the  lights  by  which 
they  have  lived.  They  are  adorable.  None  of  us  born  since 
the  Civil  War  approach  them  in  respect  to  some  fine  name 
less  quality  that  gives  them  charm  and  atmosphere.  Yet,  if 
we  are  not  less  stanch  and  unselfish  than  they,  I  take  it  we 
also  have  not  failed  in  giving  the  world  that  nourished  us 
its  due. 

Is  the  quality  of  the  human  product  really  falling  off? 
That  is  the  humiliating  question  you  must  ask  yourselves. 
If  the  suspicion  that  runs  about  the  world  is  true,  then, 
youngsters,  as  you  would  elegantly  phrase  it,  it  is  "up  to 
you." 

One  of  the  advantages  of  living  long  in  the  world  is  that 
one  steadily  acquires  an  increasingly  interesting  point  of 
view.  Even  in  middle  life  one  begins  to  see  for  one's  self 
the  evolution  of  things.  One  gets  a  glimpse  of  the  proces 
sion  of  events,  the  march  of  the  generations.  The  longer  an 
intelligent  being  lives,  the  more  deeply  experience  con 
vinces  him  that  there  is  a  pattern  in  the  tapestry  of  our 
lives,  individual  as  well  as  national  and  racial,  at  whose 
scope  we  can  only  guess. 

Yet  the  things  we  actually  see  and  can  testify  to  are 
profoundly  suggestive.  I  know  of  my  own  knowledge  how 
greatly  the  face  of  life  in  this  country  has  altered  since  my 
own  childhood.  It  is  neither  so  simple  nor  so  fine  a  thing  as 
then.  And  the  type  of  men  of  whom  every  small  commun 
ity  then  had  at  least  half  a  dozen,  the  big-brained,  big- 
hearted,  "  old  Roman  "  men,  whose  integrity  was  as  unques 
tioned  as  their  ability,  is  almost  extinct.  Their  places  are 
cut  up  and  filled  by  smaller,  less  able,  often  much  less 
honest  men.  It  is  not  that  the  big  men  have  gone  to  the 
cities  —  for  they  are  not  there;  it  is  not  that  they  left  no 
descendants  —  for  in  more  cases  than  I  care  to  count,  the 
smaller,  less  able,  less  honest  men  are  their  own  sons. 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      31 

These  latter  frequently  make  as  much  money  in  a  year  as 
their  fathers  did  in  ten,  and  show  less  character  in  a  life 
time  than  their  fathers  did  in  a  year. 

The  causes  of  this  are  too  complicated  to  go  into  here; 
but  so  far  as  you  young  people  just  coming  on  the  stage  are 
concerned,  the  result  of  this  change  of  type  in  American 
life  and  American  men  is  to  make  life  a  far  harder  problem. 
The  world  is  itself  smaller;  it  is  harder  for  the  individual  to 
live  by  his  own  light.  The  members  of  the  body  politic  are 
much  more  closely  knit  together  in  the  mesh  of  common 
interest  to-day  than  ever  before.  While  political  scandals, 
graft,  and  greed  have  always  existed,  there  never  has  been 
a  time  when  low  standards  in  business  and  politics  have  so 
assailed  the  honor  and  integrity  of  the  people  as  a  whole, 
by  tempting  them,  through  fear  of  loss,  to  acquiesce  in  the 
dishonesty  of  others.  If  better  standards  are  to  prevail,  it 
is  you  who  must  fight  their  final  battles.  Your  wisdom, 
patience,  and  moral  earnestness  are  going  to  be  taxed  to  the 
breaking-point  before  those  battles  are  won.  Have  you  the 
muscle  for  that  fight? 

Evidence  in  regard  to  the  falling-off  in  the  human  pro 
duct  is  necessarily  fragmentary  and  chaotic.  Let  us  run 
over  a  few  of  the  points  your  elders  have  observed  and  re 
corded  against  you. 

Veteran  teachers  are  saying  that  never  in  their  expe 
rience  were  young  people  so  thirstily  avid  of  pleasure  as 
now.  "But,"  one  urges,  " it  is  the  season  when  they  should 
enjoy  themselves.  Young  people  always  have  —  they 
always  will."  —  "Yes,"  they  answer,  "that  is  true,  but  this 
is  different  from  anything  we  have  ever  seen  in  the  young 
before.  They  are  so  keen  about  it  —  so  selfish,  and-  so 
hard!" 

Of  your  chosen  pleasures,  some  are  obviously  corroding 
to  the  taste;  to  be  frank,  they  are  vulgarizing.  It  is  a  mat- 


32      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

ter  of  ordinary  comment  that  the  children  of  cultivated 
fathers  and  mothers  do  not,  nowadays,  grow  up  the  equals 
of  their  parents  in  refinement  and  cultivation.  There  must, 
then,  be  strong  vulgarizing  elements  outside  the  home,  as 
well  as  some  weakness  within,  so  to  counteract  and  make 
of  little  worth  the  gentler  influences  of  their  intimate  life. 
How  can  anything  avail  to  refine  children  whose  taste  in 
humor  is  formed  by  the  colored  supplements  of  the  Sunday 
paper,  as  their  taste  in  entertainment  is  shaped  by  contin 
uous  vaudeville  and  the  moving-picture  shows?  These 
things  are  actually  very  large  factors  in  children's  lives  to 
day.  How  should  they  fail  of  their  due  influence  on  plastic 
human  material?  Where  the  parents  at  the  formative  age 
saw  occasional  performances  of  Booth,  Barrett,  Modjeska, 
and  "Rip  Van  Winkle,"  the  children  go  to  vaudeville,  and 
go  almost  constantly.  While  most  vaudeville  performances 
have  one  or  two  numbers  that  justify  the  proprietors'  claim 
of  harmless,  wholesome  amusement,  the  bulk  of  the  pro 
gramme  is  almost  inevitably  drivel,  common,  stupid,  or 
inane.  It  may  not  be  actually  coarse,  but  inanity,  stupid 
ity,  and  commonness  are  even  more  potent  as  vulgarizing 
influences  than  actual  coarseness.  Coarseness  might  repel; 
inanity  disintegrates. 

"I  don't  approve,"  your  fathers  and  mothers  say  anx 
iously,  "but  I  hate  to  keep  Tom  and  Mary  at  home  when 
all  the  other  children  are  allowed  to  go."  These  parents  are 
conscientious  and  energetic  in  looking  after  Tom's  teeth 
and  eyes,  Mary's  hair,  tonsils,  and  nasal  passages,  but  seem 
utterly  unconscious  that  mental  rickets  and  curvature  of 
the  soul  are  far  more  deforming  than  crooked  teeth  and 
adenoids. 

Our  ancestors  spoke  frequently  of  fortitude.  That  virtue 
was  very  real  and  very  admirable  to  them;  we  use  the  word 
too  little;  you,  not  at  all.  The  saving  grace  of  their  every- 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      33 

day  hardships  has  vanished.  "Even  in  a  palace,  life  may 
be  led  well!"  One  wonders  how  Marcus  Aurelius  would 
have  judged  the  moral  possibilities  of  flats  or  apartment 
hotels?  When  one  gets  light  by  pushing  a  button,  heat  by 
turning  a  screw,  water  by  touching  a  faucet,  and  food  by 
going  down  in  an  elevator,  life  is  so  detached  from  the 
healthy  exercise  and  discipline  which  used  to  accompany 
the  mere  process  of  living,  that  one  must  scramble  energet 
ically  to  a  higher  plane  or  drop  to  a  much  lower  one. 

When  the  rising  generation  goes  into  the  militia,  it  is, 
old  officers  tell  us,  "soft"  and  incompetent,  unpleasantly 
affected  by  ants  and  spiders,  querulous  as  to  tents  and 
blankets,  and  generally  as  incapable  of  adapting  itself  to 
the  details  of  military  life  as  one  would  expect  a  flat-reared 
generation  to  be.  The  advocates  of  athletics  and  manual 
training  in  our  schools  and  colleges  are  doing  their  utmost 
to  counteract  the  tendency  to  make  flabby,  fastidious  bod 
ies,  which  comes  from  too-comfortable  living;  but  the  task 
is  huge. 

Much  more  ado  is  made  over  this  business  of  training  the 
mind  and  body  to-day  than  ever  before.  From  the  multi 
plied  and  improved  machinery  of  education,  it  would  seem 
that  we  must  be  far  in  advance  of  our  fathers.  But  where 
are  the  results  in  improved  humanity?  The  plain  truth 
seems  to  be  that  the  utmost  which  can  be  done  for  the  child 
to-day  is  not  enough  to  counterbalance  the  rapidly  growing 
disadvantages  of  urban  life  and  modern  conditions.  Vast 
increase  in  effort  and  in  cost  does  not  even  enable  the  race 
to  keep  up  with  itself.  Forging  ahead  at  full  speed,  we  are 
yet  dropping  woefully  behind. 

Training  is  not  a  matter  of  the  mind  and  body  only. 
More  fundamental  to  personality  than  either  is  the  educa 
tion  of  the  soul.  In  your  up-bringing  this  has  been  pro 
foundly  neglected  —  and  here  is  your  crudest  loss.  Of  the 


34      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

generation  of  your  fathers  and  mothers  it  may  be  generally 
affirmed  that  they  received  their  early  religious  training 
under  the  old  regime.  Their  characters  were  shaped  by  the 
faith  of  their  fathers,  and  those  characters  usually  remained 
firm  and  fixed,  though  their  minds  sometimes  became  the 
sport  of  opposing  doctrines.  They  grew  up  in  a  world  that 
was  too  hastily  becoming  agnostic  as  a  result  of  the  dazzling 
new  discoveries  of  science.  It  was  a  shallow  interpretation 
that  claimed  science  and  religion  as  enemies  to  the  death. 
So  much  is  clear  now.  But,  shallow  or  not,  such  was  the 
thought  of  the  seventies.  The  rising  generation  of  that  day 
had  to  face  it.  A  great  many  young  people  then  became 
unwilling  martyrs  to  what  they  believed  the  logic  of  the 
new  knowledge.  It  was  through  inability  to  enlarge  their 
ideas  of  Him,  to  meet  the  newly  disclosed  facts  about  his 
universe,  that  they  gave  up  their  God.  They  lost  their  faith 
because  imagination  failed  them. 

The  clamor  and  the  shouting  of  that  old  war  have  already 
died  away;  the  breach  between  science  and  religion  is 
healed;  the  world  shows  more  and  more  mysterious  as  our 
knowledge  of  it  widens,  and  we  acknowledge  it  to  be  more 
inexplicable  without  a  Will  behind  its  phenomena  than  with 
one.  But  that  period  of  storm  and  stress  had  a  practical 
result;  it  is  incarnated  in  the  rising  generation. 

In  the  wrack  of  beliefs,  your  parents  managed  to  retain 
their  ingrained  principles  of  conduct.  Not  knowing  what 
to  teach  you,  they  taught  you  nothing  whole-heartedly. 
Thus  you  have  the  distinction  of  growing  up  with  a  spirit 
ual  training  less  in  quantity  and  more  diluted  in  quality 
than  any  "Christian"  generation  for  nineteen  hundred 
years.  If  you  are  agnostic-and-water,  if  you  find  nothing  in 
the  universe  more  stable  than  your  own  wills  —  what 
wonder?  Conceived  in  uncertainty,  brought  forth  in  mis 
giving  —  how  can  such  a  generation  be  nobly  militant? 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      35 

Before  it  occurred  to  me  to  analyze  your  deficiencies  and 
your  predicament  thus,  I  used  to  look  at  a  good  many 
members  of  the  rising  generation  and  wonder  helplessly 
what  ailed  them.  They  were  amiable,  attractive,  lovable 
even,  but  singularly  lacking  in  force,  personality,  and  the 
power  to  endure.  Conceptions  of  conduct  that  were  the 
very  foundations  of  existence  to  decent  people  even  fifteen 
years  their  seniors,  were  to  them  simply  unintelligible. 
The  word  "unselfishness,"  for  instance,  had  vanished  from 
their  vocabularies.  Of  altruism,  they  had  heard.  They 
thought  it  meant  giving  away  money  if  you  had  plenty  to 
spare.  They  approved  of  altruism,  but  "  self-sacrifice  "  was 
literally  as  Sanskrit  to  their  ears.  They  demanded  ease; 
they  shirked  responsibility.  They  did  not  seem  able  to 
respond  to  the  notion  of  duty  as  human  nature  has  always 
managed  to  respond  to  it  before. 

All  this  was  not  a  matter  of  youth.  One  may  be  undevel 
oped  and  yet  show  the  more  clearly  the  stuff  of  which  one 
is  made.  It  was  a  matter  of  substance,  of  mass.  You  can 
not  carve  a  statue  in  the  round  from  a  thin  marble  slab;  the 
useful  two-by-four  is  valueless  as  framing-timber  for  ships; 
you  cannot  make  folks  out  of  light-weight  human  material. 

When  these  young  persons  adopted  a  philosophy,  it  was 
naive  and  inadequate.  They  talked  of  themselves  as  "  social 
ists,"  but  their  ideas  of  Socialism  were  vague.  To  them  it 
was  just  an  ism  that  was  going  to  put  the  world  to  rights, 
without  bothering  them  very  much  to  help  it  along.  They 
seemed  to  feel  that  salvation  would  come  to  them  by  read 
ing  Whitman  and  G.  B.  S.,  or  even  the  mild  and  uncertain 
Mr.  H.  G.  Wells;  and  that  a  vague,  general  good-will  toward 
man  was  an  ample  substitute  for  active  effort  and  self -sac 
rifice  for  individuals.  Somebody,  some  day,  was  going  to 
push  a  button,  and  presto !  life  would  be  soft  and  comfort 
able  for  everybody. 


36      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

Of  Socialism  in  general  I  confess  myself  incompetent  to 
speak.  It  may,  or  it  may  not,  be  the  solution  of  our  acutely 
pressing  social  problems.  But  if  men  are  too  cheap,  greedy, 
and  sordid  to  carry  on  a  republic  honestly,  preserving  that 
equality  of  opportunity  which  this  country  was  founded  to 
secure,  it  must  be  men  who  need  reforming.  The  more  ideal 
the  scheme  of  government,  the  less  chance  it  has  against  the 
inherent  crookedness  of  human  nature.  In  the  last  analy 
sis,  we  are  not  ruled  by  a  "government,*'  but  by  our  own 
natures  objectified,  moulded  into  institutions.  Rotten  men 
make  rotten  government.  If  we  are  not  improving  the 
quality  of  the  human  product,  our  social  system  is  bound  to 
grow  more  cruel  and  unjust,  whatever  its  name  or  form. 

"But  of  course  you  believe,"  said  one  pink-cheeked  young 
Socialist,  expounding  his  doctrine,  "that  the  world  will  be  a 
great  deal  better  when  everybody  has  a  porcelain  bathtub 
and  goes  through  high  school.  Why  —  why,  of  course,  you 
must  believe  that!" 

Dear  lad,  I  believe  nothing  of  the  kind!  You  yourself 
have  had  a  porcelain  bathtub  from  your  tenderest  years. 
You  also  went  through  high  school.  Yet  you  are  markedly 
inferior  to  your  old  grandfather  in  every  way,  —  shallower, 
feebler,  more  flippant,  less  efficient  physically  and  even 
mentally,  though  your  work  is  with  books,  and  his  was  with 
flocks  and  herds.  Frankly,  I  find  in  you  nothing  essential 
to  a  man.  God  knows  what  life  can  make  of  such  as  you.  I 
do  not.  Your  brand  of  Socialism  is  made  up  of  a  warm  heart, 
a  weak  head,  and  an  unwillingness  to  assume  responsibility 
for  yourself  or  anybody  else  —  in  short,  a  desire  to  shirk. 
These  elements  are  unpleasantly  common  in  young  Social 
ists  of  my  acquaintance.  I  know,  of  course,  that  a  very 
passion  of  pity,  a  Christlike  tenderness,  brings  many  to 
that  fold;  but  there  are  more  of  another  kind.  It  was  one  of 
the  latter  who  was  horrified  by  my  suggestion  that  he 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      37 

might  have  to  care  for  his  parents  in  their  old  age.  It  would 
interfere  too  much,  he  said,  with  his  conception  of  working 
out  his  own  career! 

What  can  one  say  to  this?  The  words  character  and  duty 
convey  absolutely  nothing  to  young  people  of  this  type. 
They  have  not  even  a  fair  working  conception  of  what  such 
words  mean.  Did  I  not  dispute  a  whole  afternoon  with  an 
other  young  man  about  the  necessity  for  character,  only 
to  learn  at  the  end  of  it  that  he  did  n't  know  what  character 
was.  He  supposed  it  was  "something  narrow  and  priggish 

—  like  what  deacons  used  to  be."  And  he,  mind  you,  was  in 
his  twenties,  and  claimed,  ore  rotundo,  to  be  a  Whitmanite, 
a  Shavian,  and  a  Socialist.  Also,  he  was  really  intelligent 
about  almost  everything  but  life  —  which  is  the  only  thing 
it  is  at  all  needful  to  be  intelligent  about. 

The  culte  du  moi  is  one  thing  when  it  is  representative, 
when  one  rhapsodizes  one's  self  haughtily  as  a  unit  of  the 
democratic  mass,  as  Whitman  undoubtedly  did ;  and  quite 
another  when  it  is  narrowly  personal,  a  kind  of  glorification 
of  the  petty,  personal  attributes  of  young  John  Smith,  used 
by  him  to  conceal  from  himself  the  desirability  of  remodel 
ing  his  own  personality ;  but  that  is  what  young  John  Smith, 
who  calls  himself  a  Whitmanite,  is  making  of  it.  I  knew  one 
of  these  young  persons  —  I  trust  his  attitude  is  exceptional 

—  who  refused  special  training  for  work  he  wanted  to  do, 
on  the  ground  that  he  was  "repelling  interference  with  his 
sacred  individuality." 

Twenty  years  ago  there  were  faint-hearted  disciples  of 
Whitman  who  took  him  as  an  antidote  for  congenital  unas- 
sertiveness.  His  insistence  on  the  value  of  personality 
supplied  something  needed  in  their  make-up,  and  they 
found  in  wearing  a  flannel  shirt  and  soft  tie  a  kind  of  spirit 
ual  gymnastic  that  strengthened  the  flabby  muscles  of 
their  Ego.  The  young  Whitmanites  of  to-day  have  no 
flabby  muscles  in  their  Ego. 


38      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

The  same  temperamental  qualities  operate  when  they 
name  themselves  Shavians.  Their  philosophy  was  set 
forth  lucidly  in  an  article  in  the  "Atlantic"  for  February, 
1909.1  Its  keynote  is  the  liberation  of  the  natural  will,  with 
the  important  modifications  that  the  natural  will  must  hold 
itself  to  an  iron  responsibility  in  its  collisions  with  other 
wills,  must  not  obstruct  the  general  good  of  society  or  the 
evolution  of  the  race.  To  the  unphilosophic  eye,  these 
modifications  look  suspiciously  like  duties  —  the  old,  old 
duties  to  God  and  man.  Why  go  around  Robin  Hood's  barn 
to  arrive  at  the  point  where  our  ancestors  set  out?  If  the 
exercise  were  mentally  strengthening,  the  detour  might  be 
justified;  but  the  evidence  of  this  is  decidedly  incomplete. 

It  may  easily  happen  that  the  next  twenty  years  will 
prove  the  most  interesting  in  the  history  of  civilization. 
Armageddon  is  always  at  hand  in  some  fashion.  Nice  lads 
with  the  blood  of  the  founders  of  our  nation  in  your  veins, 
pecking  away  at  the  current  literature  of  Socialism,  taking 
out  of  it  imperfectly  understood  apologies  for  your  temper 
aments  and  calling  it  philosophy  —  where  will  you  be  if  a 
Great  Day  should  really  dawn?  What  is  there  in  your  way 
of  thought  to  help  you  play  the  man  in  any  crisis?  If  the 
footmen  have  wearied  you,  how  shall  you  run  with  the 
horsemen?  In  one  way  or  another,  every  generation  has  to 
fight  for  its  life.  When  your  turn  comes,  you  will  be  tossed 
on  the  scrap-heap,  shoved  aside  by  boys  of  a  sterner  fibre 
and  a  less  easy  life,  boys  who  have  read  less  and  worked 
more,  boys  who  have  thought  to  some  purpose  and  have 
been  willing  —  as  you  are  not  —  to  be  disciplined  by  life. 

If  you  point  out  to  one  of  these  young  Whitmanshaws 
the  fact  that  the  Ten  Commandments  are  concrete  sugges 
tions  for  so  conducting  life  that  it  will  interfere  as  little  as 
possible  with  "  the  general  good  of  society  and  the  evolution 
1 "  The  Philosophy  of  Bernard  Shaw,"  by  Archibald  Henderson. 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      39 

of  the  race,"  and  that  the  Golden  Rule  is  a  general  principle 
covering  the  same  ground,  he  will  tell  you  that  the  Ten 
Commandments  and  the  Golden  Rule  are  bad  because  they 
are  promulgated  on  Authority,  and  nobody  must  take 
things  on  Authority  —  for  Mr.  Shaw  says  so!  One  must 
find  it  all  out  for  himself.  If  you  suggest  that  it  is  possible 
to  regard  Authority  as  the  data  collected  by  those  who  have 
preceded  him  along  the  trail,  telling  him  what  they  found 
out  about  the  road,  so  as  to  save  him  from  trouble  and  dan 
ger;  if  you  maintain  that  it  is  as  unscientific  to  reject  pre 
vious  discoveries  in  ethics  as  in  engineering,  he  may  be 
silenced,  but  he  will  not  be  convinced,  for  his  revolt  is  not 
a  matter  of  logic  but  of  feeling.  He  wants  to  do  as  he 
pleases.  He  desires  to  be  irresponsible,  and  he  will  adopt 
any  philosophy  which  seems  to  him  to  hold  out  a  justifica 
tion  of  irresponsibility,  as  he  will  adopt  any  theory  of  social 
organization  which  promises  to  relieve  him  of  a  man's  work 
in  the  world.  I  am  not  exaggerating  the  shallowness  of  this 
attitude. 

All  educated  young  people  are  not  "  intellectuals."  Most 
of  them  are  perfectly  contented  without  any  articulate 
philosophy  as  an  apology  for  their  inclinations.  There  is 
also  a  considerable  body  of  them  who  are  already  painfully 
commercialized,  even  in  their  school-days.  On  the  whole, 
the  kind  of  young  Socialist  who  resents  the  idea  of  having  to 
care  for  his  parents  in  their  helpless  age  is  less  of  a  menace 
to  society  as  now  constituted  than  the  kind  of  young  indi 
vidualist  who  boasts  how  much  money  he  acquired  during 
his  college  course  by  making  loans  to  his  classmates  upon 
the  security  of  their  evening  clothes  and  watches.  The  lat 
ter,  hard  as  nails  and  predatory,  has  already  moulded  him 
self  into  a  distinctly  anti-social  shape;  the  former  is  still 
amorphous,  still  groping.  There  is  yet  a  chance  that  he 
may  make  a  man. 


40      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

I  am  not  a  philosopher.  I  know  only  so  much  as  the  man 
in  the  street  may  know,  the  rough-and-ready  philosophy 
that  is  born  in  us  all.  Just  so  long  as  any  system  of  educa 
tion  or  any  philosophy  produces  folks  that  are  folks,  wisdom 
is  justified  of  her  children.  That  system  has  earned  the 
right  to  stand.  This  point  is  not  debatable.  Even  the  new 
prophets  concede  it.  For  the  end  of  all  education,  the  busi 
ness  of  all  living,  is  to  make  men  and  women.  All  else  is 
vain  toil.  The  old  conditions  produced  them;  the  new  do 
not. 

Certain  qualities  go  to  the  making  of  any  human  being 
whom  other  human  beings  esteem.  Certain  ingredients  are 
as  necessary  to  a  man  as  flour  and  yeast  to  bread,  or  iron 
and  carbon  to  steel.  You  cannot  make  them  any  other  way. 
There  is  a  combination  of  steadiness  of  purpose,  breadth  of 
mind,  kindliness,  wholesome  common  sense,  justice,  per 
haps  a  flash  of  humor,  certainly  a  capacity  for  the  task  in 
hand,  that  produces  a  worth-while  person.  The  combina 
tion  occurs  in  every  rank  in  life.  You  find  it  as  often  in  the 
kitchen  as  in  the  parlor;  oftener,  perhaps,  in  the  field  than 
in  the  office.  The  people  who  are  so  composed  have  spiritual 
length,  breadth,  thickness ;  they  are  people  of  three  dimen 
sions.  Everybody  feels  alike  about  them,  even  you  young 
sters.  For  this  saving  grace  I  have  noticed  about  you 
—  you  do,  after  all,  know  whom  to  like  when  types  are  put 
before  you  in  the  flesh.  Never  by  any  chance  do  you  waste 
your  real  admiration  on  the  one-dimension  people  who,  like 
points,  have  "position  but  no  magnitude,"  or  on  the  two- 
dimension  people  who,  like  planes,  "have  length  and 
breadth  but  no  depth."  You  frankly  don't  care  much  for 
the  kind  of  creature  your  own  ideas  would  shape.  You 
want  people  to  be  stanch,  patient,  able,  just  as  much  as  if 
you  were  not  repudiating  for  yourselves  the  attitudes  which 
produce  these  things. 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      41 

Force,  personality,  the  power  to  endure:  these  our  fath 
ers  had;  these  you  are  losing.  Yet  life  itself  demands  them 
as  much  as  it  ever  did.  For  though  we  may  be  getting  soft 
and  losing  our  stamina  (another  word  which,  like  fortitude, 
has  gone  out  of  fashion),  the  essential  elements  of  life  re 
main  unchangeable.  Life  is  not,  and  is  not  meant  to  be,  a 
cheap,  easy  matter,  even  for  flat-dwellers.  It  is  a  grim,  hard, 
desolate  piece  of  work,  shot  through  with  all  sorts  of  exquis 
ite,  wonderful,  compensating  experiences. 

Consider  the  matter  of  your  own  existence  and  support 
that  you  accept  with  such  nonchalant  ease.  Every  child 
born  into  the  world  is  paid  for  with  literal  blood,  sweat, 
tears.  That  is  the  fixed  price,  and  there  are  no  bargain  sales. 
Years  of  toil,  months  of  care,  hours  of  agony,  go  to  your 
birth  and  rearing.  What  excuse  have  you,  anyhow,  for 
turning  out  flimsy,  shallow,  amusement-seeking  creatures, 
when  you  think  of  the  elements  in  your  making?  The  price 
is  paid  gladly.  That  is  your  fathers'  and  mothers'  part. 
Yours  is,  to  be  worth  it.  You  have  your  own  salvation  to 
work  out.  It  must  be  salvation,  and  it  must  be  achieved  by 
work.  That  is  the  law,  and  there  is  no  other. 

Our  rushing,  mechanical,  agitated  way  of  living  tends  to 
hide  these  root-facts  from  you.  Years  ago  I  asked  a  young 
girl,  compelled  for  reasons  of  health  to  spend  her  winters 
away  from  her  home,  how  she  filled  her  days.  "It  takes  a 
good  dealjof  time  to  find  out  what  I  think  about  things," 
she  answered,  explaining  thereby,  in  part,  the  depth  in  her 
own  character  as  well  as  the  shallowness  in  whole  groups  of 
others.  In  simpler  days,  when  there  was  more  work  and  less 
amusement,  there  was  more  time  for  thinking,  and  thinking 
is  creative  of  personality.  Some  of  it  must  go  to  the  making 
of  any  creature  who  counts  at  all,  as  must  also  some  actual 
work.  Also  —  and  you  ought  to  know  this  and  to  be  able  to 
rejoice  in  it  —  the  other  great  creative  elements  in  person- 


42       A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

ality  are  responsibility  and  suffering.  The  unshapen  lump 
of  raw  human  material  that  we  are  cannot  take  on  lines  of 
identity  without  the  hammer,  the  chisel,  the  drill  —  that 
comparison  must  certainly  be  as  old  as  the  art  of  moralizing, 
but  it  has  not  lost  its  force. 

Sometimes  you  prattle  confidently  of  growth  by  "devel 
opment,'*  as  if  that  were  an  affair  of  ease.  It  is  only  experi 
ence,  the  reaction  of  our  activities  on  the  self,  which  devel 
ops;  and  experience  has  immense  possibilities  of  pain.  Have 
you  forgotten  what  you  learned  in  your  psychology  con 
cerning  the  very  kernel  of  selfhood  ?  "  We  measure  ourselves 
by  many  standards.  Our  strength  and  our  intelligence,  our 
wealth  and  even  our  good  luck,  are  things  which  warm  our 
heart  and  make  us  feel  ourselves  a  match  for  life.  But 
deeper  than  all  such  things,  and  able  to  suffice  unto  itself 
without  them,  is  the  sense  of  the  amount  of  effort  we  can 
put  forth  .  .  .  as  if  it  were  the  substantive  thing  which  we 
are,  and  those  were  but  the  externals  which  we  carry.  .  .  . 
He  who  can  make  none  is  but  a  shadow;  he  who  can  make 
much  is  a  hero." 

We  are,  obviously,  here  to  be  made  into  something  by 
life.  It  seizes  and  shapes  us.  The  process  is  sometimes 
very  pleasant,  sometimes  very  painful.  So  be  it.  It  is  all  in 
the  day's  work,  and  only  the  worthless  will  try  to  evade 
their  proper  share  of  either  pain  or  pleasure.  To  seek  more 
of  the  former  would  be  bravado,  as  to  accept  less  would  be 
dishonor.  The  whole  matter  is  of  such  a  simplicity  that 
only  the  suspicion  of  a  concerted,  though  unconscious,  at 
tempt  of  an  entire  generation  to  get  the  pleasure  without 
the  due  pain  of  living,  would  justify  such  a  definite  state 
ment  of  it  here. 

The  other  day  I  beheld  a  woman  whose  husband  earns 
something  less  than  two  hundred  dollars  a  month,  purchas 
ing  her  season's  wardrobe.  Into  it  went  one  hat  at  fifty 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      43 

dollars  and  another  at  thirty  dollars.  Her  neighbors  in  the 
flat-building  admired  and  envied.  One  of  the  bolder  won 
dered.  "Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Mrs.  Jones.  "I  just 
tell  Mr.  Jones  life  is  n't  worth  livin'  if  I  can't  have  what 
I  want."  This,  you  see,  was  her  way  of  "liberating  the  nat 
ural  will." 

The  truth  is  that  life  is  n't  worth  livin'  if  you  can  have 
what  you  want  —  unless  you  happen  to  be  the  exceptional 
person  who  wants  discipline,  responsibility,  effort,  suffering. 

From  the  thought  of  Mrs.  Jones  and  her  hats,  I  like  to 
turn  to  a  certain  volume  of  memoirs,  giving  a  picture  of 
New  England  life  in  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
It  is  an  incomparable  textbook  on  the  art  of  getting  the 
most  out  of  living.  It  sets  forth,  in  such  concrete,  vivid 
fashion  as  to  kindle  the  most  reluctant  imagination,  the 
habits  and  virtues  of  a  plain-living,  high-thinking,  purpose 
ful  day.  The  delightful  lady  who  is  the  subject  of  it  found 
three  dresses  at  a  time  an  ample  outfit,  and  six  days'  sewing 
a  year  sufficed  for  her  wardrobe;  but  she  had  "a  noble  pres 
ence  and  what  would  have  been  called  stately  manners,  had 
they  not  been  so  gracious."1  Before  the  age  of  twenty  she 
had  read  "all  the  authors  on  metaphysics  and  ethics  that 
were  then  best  known,  "and  throughout  life  she  kept  eagerly 
in  touch  with  the  thought  of  the  day.  This  did  not  inter 
fere  with  her  domestic  concerns,  as  they  did  not  narrow 
her  social  life.  If  she  arose  at  4  A.M.  to  sweep  the  parlors, 
calling  the  domestics  and  the  family  at  six,  it  was  that  she 
might  find  time  for  reading  during  the  morning,  and  for  en 
tertaining  her  friends  in  the  evening,  as  she  habitually  did 
some  three  times  a  week.  She  managed  a  large  house  and  a 
large  family,  and  her  wit,  cultivation,  and  energy  enriched 
life  for  everybody  who  knew  her.  She  had  "no  higher  aim 

1  Recollections  of  My  Mother.    By  Susan  I.  Lesley,  Boston:  Houghton 
Mifflin  Co. 


44      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

than  to  light  and  warm  the  neighborhood  where  God  had 
placed  her."  She  and  her  sisters  "had  never  dreamed  of  a 
life  of  ease,  or  of  freedom  from  care,  as  anything  to  be  de 
sired.  On  the  contrary,  they  gloried  in  responsibility  with 
all  the  intensity  of  simple  and  healthy  natures." 

That  day  is  gone,  not  to  return,  but  its  informing  spirit 
can  be  recaptured  and  applied  to  other  conditions  as  a 
solvent.  If  that  were  done,  I  think  the  Golden  Age  might 
come  again,  even  here  and  now. 

No  generalizations  apply  to  all  of  a  class.  Numerically, 
of  course,  many  of  the  rising  generation  are  fine  and  com 
petent  young  people,  stanch,  generous,  right-minded,  seek 
ing  to  give  and  to  get  the  best  in  life  and  to  leave  the  world 
better  than  they  found  it.  I  take  it,  any  young  person  who 
reads  the  "Atlantic"  will  have  chosen  this  better  part  — 
but,  suppose  you  had  n't !  Suppose  you  discovered  your 
self  to  be  one  of  those  unfortunates  herein  described?  De 
prived  of  the  disciplinary  alphabet,  multiplication-table, 
Latin  grammar;  dispossessed  of  the  English  Bible,  most 
stimulating  of  literary  as  well  as  of  ethical  inheritances ;  de 
spoiled  of  your  birthright  in  the  religion  that  made  your 
ancestors ;  destitute  of  incentives  to  hardihood  and  physical 
exertion;  solicited  to  indolence  by  cheap  amusements,  to 
self-conceit  by  cheap  philosophies,  to  greed  by  cheap 
wealth  —  what,  then,  is  left  for  you? 

Even  if  your  predicament  were,  without  relief,  as  dire  as 
this,  you  would  at  least  have  the  chance  to  put  up  a  won 
derful  fight.  It  would  be  so  good  a  thing  to  win  against 
those  odds  that  one's  blood  tingles  at  the  thought.  But 
there  are  several  elements  which  alter  the  position.  For  one, 
the  lack  of  a  definite  religious  training  is  not  irreparable. 

This  is  not  a  sermon,  and  it  is  for  others  to  tell  those  how 
to  find  God  who  have  not  yet  attained  unto  Him;  but  it  is 
certain  that  the  mature  world  around  you,  with  which  you 


A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION      45 

are  just  coming  into  definite  relation,  is  morally  very  much 
alive  just  now.  That  its  moral  awakening  is  not  exactly  on 
the  lines  of  previous  ones  does  not  make  it  less  authentic  or 
contagious.  Unless  you  are  prematurely  case-hardened,  it 
is  bound  to  affect  you. 

Then  —  you  are  young.  It  is  quite  within  your  power  to 
surprise  yourselves  and  discomfit  the  middle-aged  prophets 
of  evil  who  write  you  pages  of  warnings.  The  chance  of 
youth  is  always  the  very  greatest  chance  in  the  world,  the 
chance  of  the  uncharted  sea,  of  the  undiscovered  land. 

The  idealism  of  the  young  and  their  plasticity  in  the 
hands  of  their  ideals  have  carried  this  old  world  through 
evil  days  before  now.  It  has  always  been  held  true  that,  so 
long  as  you  are  under  twenty-five,  you  are  not  irrevocably 
committed  to  your  own  deficiencies.  I  wonder  if  you  realize 
that  for  you,  first  among  the  sons  of  men,  that  period  of 
grace  has  been  indefinitely  extended? 

The  brain-specialists  and  the  psychologists  between 
them  have  given  in  the  last  ten  years  what  seems  conclus 
ive  proof  of  the  servitude  of  the  body  to  the  Self;  they  have 
shown  how,  by  use  of  the  appropriate  mechanism  in  our 
make-up,  we  can  control  to  a  degree  even  the  automatisms 
of  our  bodies;  they  have  demonstrated  the  absolute  mas 
tery  of  will  over  conduct.  Those  ancient  foes,  Heredity  and 
Habit,  can  do  very  little  against  you,  to-day,  that  you  are 
not  in  a  position  to  overcome.  Since  the  world  began,  no  hu 
man  creatures  have  had  the  scientific  assertion  of  this  that 
you  possess.  Many  wise  and  many  righteous  have  longed 
to  be  assured  of  these  matters,  and  have  agonized  through 
life  without  that  certainty.  Saints  and  sages  have  achieved 
by  long  prayer  and  fasting  the  graces  that  you,  apparently, 
may  attain  by  the  easy  process  of  self-suggestion. 

Coming  as  this  psychological  discovery  does,  in  the  mid 
dle  of  an  age  of  unparalleled  mechanical  invention  and  dis- 


46      A  LETTER  TO  THE  RISING  GENERATION 

covery,  it  is  almost  —  is  it  not?  —  as  if  the  Creator  of  men 
had  said:  "It  is  time  that  these  children  of  mine  came  to 
maturity.  I  will  give  them  at  last  their  full  mastery  over 
the  earth  and  over  the  air  and  over  the  spirits  of  themselves. 
Let  us  see  how  they  bear  themselves  under  these  gifts." 

Thus,  your  responsibility  for  yourselves  is  such  an  utter 
responsibility  as  the  race  has  never  known.  It  is  the  ulti 
mate  challenge  to  human  worth  and  human  power.  You 
dare  not  fail  under  it.  I  think  the  long  generations  of  your 
fathers  hold  their  breath,  to  see  if  you  do  less  with  certainty 
than  they  have  done  with  faith. 


THIS  OLDER  GENERATION 

RANDOLPH   S.    BOURNE 

I  READ  with  ever-increasing  wonder  the  guarded  defenses 
and  discreet  apologies  for  the  older  generation  which  keep 
filtering  through  the  essays  of  the  "Atlantic."  I  can  even 
seem  to  detect  a  growing  decision  of  tone,  a  definite  assur 
ance  of  conviction,  which  seems  to  imply  that  a  rally  has 
been  undertaken  against  the  accusations  which  the  younger 
generation,  in  its  self-assurance,  its  irreverence  for  the  old 
conventions  and  moralities,  its  passion  for  the  novel  and 
startling,  seemed  to  be  bringing  against  them.  The  first 
faint  twinges  of  conscience  felt  by  the  older  generation  have 
given  place  to  renewed  homily.  There  is  an  evident  anxiety 
to  get  itself  put  on  record  as  perfectly  satisfied  with  its 
world,  and  desirous  that  its  sons  and  daughters  should  learn 
anew  of  those  peculiar  beauties  in  which  it  has  lived.  Swept 
off  its  feet  by  the  call  to  social  service  and  social  reform,  it 
is  slowly  regaining  its  foundation,  and,  slightly  flushed,  and 
with  garments  somewhat  awry,  it  proclaims  again  its  be 
lief  in  the  eternal  verities  of  Protestant  religion  and  conven 
tional  New  England  morality. 

It  is  always  an  encouraging  sign  when  people  are  rendered 
self-conscious  and  are  forced  to  examine  the  basis  of  their 
ideals.  The  demand  that  they  explain  them  to  skeptics  al 
ways  makes  for  clarity.  When  the  older  generation  is  put  on 
the  defensive,  it  must  first  discover  what  convictions  it  has, 
and  then  sharpen  them  to  their  finest  point  in  order  to  pre 
sent  them  convincingly.  There  are  always  too  many 
unquestioned  things  in  the  world,  and  for  a  person  or  class 
to  have  to  scurry  about  to  find  reasons  for  its  prejudices  is 


48  THIS  OLDER  GENERATION 

about  as  healthy  an  exercise  as  one  could  wish  for  either  of 
them.  To  be  sure,  the  reasons  are  rarely  any  more  than  ex 
post  facto  excuses  —  supports  and  justifications  for  the  pre 
judices  rather  than  the  causes  thereof.  Reason  itself  is  very 
seldom  more  than  that.  The  important  point  is  that  one 
should  feel  the  need  of  a  reason.  This  always  indicates  that 
something  has  begun  to  slide,  that  the  world  is  no  longer  so 
secure  as  it  was,  that  obvious  truths  no  longer  are  obvious, 
that  the  world  has  begun  to  bristle  with  question  marks. 

One  of  the  basic  grievances  of  this  older  generation  against 
the  younger  of  to-day,  with  its  social  agitation,  its  religious 
heresy,  its  presumptive  individuality,  its  economic  restless 
ness,  is  that  all  this  makes  it  uncomfortable.  When  you 
have  found  growing  older  to  be  a  process  of  the  reconcilia 
tion  of  the  spirit  to  life,  it  is  decidedly  disconcerting  to  have 
some  youngster  come  along  and  point  out  the  irreconcilable 
things  in  the  universe.  Just  as  you  have  made  a  tacit  agree 
ment  to  call  certain  things  non-existent,  it  is  highly  discom 
moding  to  have  somebody  shout  with  strident  tones  that 
they  are  very  real  and  significant.  When,  after  much  strug 
gling  and  compromise,  you  have  got  your  world  clamped 
down,  it  is  discouraging  to  have  a  gale  arise,  which  threat 
ens  to  blow  over  all  your  structure.  Through  so  much  of 
the  current  writing  runs  this  quiet  note  of  disapprobation. 
These  agnostic  professors  who  unsettle  the  faith  of  our 
youth,  these  "  intellectuals  who  stick  a  finger  in  everybody's 
pie  in  the  name  of  social  justice,"  these  sensation-mongers 
who  unveil  great  masses  of  political  and  social  corruption, 
these  remorseless  scientists  who  would  reveal  so  many  of 
our  reticences  —  why  can't  they  let  us  alone?  Can  they  not 
see  that  God's  in  his  heaven,  all's  right  with  the  world? 

Now  I  know  this  older  generation,  which  doth  protest  so 
much.  I  have  lived  with  it  for  the  last  fifteen  years,  ever 
since  I  began  to  wonder  whether  all  was  for  the  best  in  the 


THIS  OLDER  GENERATION  49 

best  of  all  possible  worlds.  I  was  educated  by  it,  grew  up 
with  it.  I  doubt  if  any  generation  ever  had  a  more  docile 
pupil  than  I.  What  they  taught  me,  I  find  they  still  believe, 
or  at  least  so  many  of  them  as  have  not  gone  over  to  the 
enemy,  or  been  captured  by  the  militant  youth  of  to-day. 
Or,  as  seems  rather  likely,  they  no  longer  precisely  believe, 
but  they  want  their  own  arguments  to  convince  themselves. 
It  is  probable  that,  when  we  really  believe  a  thing  with  all 
our  hearts,  we  do  not  attempt  to  justify  it.  Justification 
comes  only  when  we  are  beginning  to  doubt  it. 

By  this  older  generation,  I  mean,  of  course,  the  mothers 
and  fathers  and  uncles  and  aunts  of  the  youth  of  both  sexes 
between  twenty  and  thirty  who  are  beginning  their  profes 
sional  or  business  life.  And  I  refer  of  course  to  the  comfort 
able  or  fairly  comfortable  American  middle  class.  Now  this 
older  generation  has  had  a  religion,  a  metaphysics,  an  ethics, 
and  a  political  and  social  philosophy,  which  have  reigned 
practically  undisputed  until  the  appearance  of  the  present 
generation.  It  has  at  least  never  felt  called  upon  to  justify 
itself.  It  has  never  been  directly  challenged,  as  it  is  to-day. 
In  order  to  localize  this  generation  still  further,  we  must  see 
it  in  its  typical  setting  of  the  small  town  or  city,  clustered 
about  the  institutions  of  church  and  family.  If  we  have  any 
society  which  can  be  called  "America,"  it  is  this  society. 
Its  psychology  is  American  psychology;  its  soul  is  America's 
soul. 

This  older  generation,  which  I  have  known  so  well  for 
fifteen  years,  has  a  religion  which  is  on  the  whole  as  pleasant 
and  easy  as  could  be  devised.  Though  its  members  are  the 
descendants  of  the  stern  and  rugged  old  Puritans,  who 
wrestled  with  the  devil  and  stripped  their  world  of  all  that 
might  seduce  them  from  the  awful  service  of  God,  they  have 
succeeded  in  straining  away  by  a  long  process  all  the  re 
pellent  attitudes  in  the  old  philosophy  of  life.  It  is  unfair 


50  THIS  OLDER  GENERATION 

to  say  that  the  older  generation  believes  in  dogmas  and 
creeds.  It  would  be  more  accurate  to  say  that  it  does  not 
disbelieve.  It  retains  them  as  a  sort  of  guaranty  of  the 
stability  of  the  faith,  but  leaves  them  rather  severely  alone. 
It  does  not  even  make  more  than  feeble  efforts  to  reinter 
pret  them  in  the  light  of  modern  knowledge.  They  are  use 
less,  but  necessary. 

The  foundation  of  this  religion  may  be  religious,  but  the 
superstructure  is  almost  entirely  ethical.  Most  sermons  of 
to-day  are  little  more  than  pious  exhortations  to  good  con 
duct.  By  good  conduct  is  meant  that  sort  of  action  which 
will  least  disturb  the  normal  routine  of  modern  middle-class 
life :  common  honesty  in  business  lif e,  faithfulness  to  duty, 
ambition  in  business  and  profession,  filial  obligation,  the 
use  of  talents,  and  always  and  everywhere  simple  human 
kindness  and  love.  The  old  Puritan  ethics,  which  saw  in  the 
least  issue  of  conduct  a  struggle  between  God  and  the  devil, 
has  become  a  mere  code  for  facilitating  the  daily  friction 
of  conventional  life. 

Now  one  would  indeed  be  churlish  to  find  fault  with  this 
devout  belief  in  simple  goodness,  which  characterizes  the 
older  generation.  It  is  only  when  these  humble  virtues  are 
raised  up  into  an  all-inclusive  programme  for  social  reform 
and  into  a  philosophy  of  life  that  one  begins  to  question, 
and  to  feel  afar  the  deep  hostility  of  the  older  generation  to 
the  new  faith. 

Simple  kindness,  common  honesty,  filial  obedience,  it  is 
evidently  still  felt,  will  solve  all  the  difficulties  of  personal 
and  social  life.  The  most  popular  novels  of  the  day  are 
those  in  which  the  characters  do  the  most  good  to  each 
other.  The  enormous  success  with  the  older  generation  of 
"The  Inside  of  the  Cup,"  "Queed,"  and  "V.V.'s  Eyes"  is 
based  primarily  on  the  fact  that  these  books  represent  a 
sublimated  form  of  the  good  old  American  melodramatic 
moral  sense. 


THIS  OLDER  GENERATION  51 

And  now  comes  along  Mr.  Gerald  Stanley  Lee  with  his 
"  Crowds,"  —  what  a  funny,  individualized,  personal- 
responsibility  crowd  he  gives  us,  to  be  sure,  —  and  his  pan 
acea  for  modern  social  ills  by  the  old  solution  of  applied 
personal  virtue.  Never  a  word  about  removing  the  barriers 
of  caste  and  race  and  economic  inequality,  but  only  an  urg 
ing  to  step  over  them.  Never  a  trumpet-call  to  level  the 
ramparts  of  privilege,  or  build  up  the  heights  of  opportun 
ity,  but  only  an  appeal  to  extend  the  charitable  hand  from 
the  ramparts  of  heaven,  or  offer  the  kindly  patronage  to  the 
less  fortunate,  or  —  most  dazzling  of  all  —  throw  away,  in 
a  frenzy  of  abandonment,  life  and  fortune.  Not  to  con 
struct  a  business  organization  where  dishonesty  would  be 
meaningless,  but  to  be  utopianly  honest  against  the  busi 
ness  world.  In  other  words,  the  older  generation  believes  in 
getting  all  the  luxury  of  the  virtue  of  goodness,  while  con 
serving  all  the  advantages  of  being  in  a  vicious  society. 

If  there  is  any  one  characteristic  that  distinguishes  the 
older  generation,  it  is  this  belief  that  social  ills  may  be  cured 
by  personal  virtue.  Its  highest  moral  ideals  are  sacrifice 
and  service.  But  the  older  generation  can  never  see  how 
intensely  selfish  these  ideals  are,  in  the  most  complete  sense 
of  the  word  selfish.  What  they  mean  always  is,  "  I  sacrifice 
myself  for  you,"  "  I  serve  you,"  not, "  We  cooperate  in  work 
ing  ceaselessly  toward  an  ideal  where  all  may  be  free  and 
none  may  be  served  or  serve."  These  ideals  of  sacrifice  and 
service  are  utterly  selfish,  because  they  take  account  only 
of  the  satisfaction  and  moral  consolidation  of  the  doer. 
They  enhance  his  moral  value;  but  what  of  the  person  who 
is  served  or  sacrificed  for?  What  of  the  person  who  is  done 
good  to?  If  the  feelings  of  sacrifice  and  service  were  hi  any 
sense  altruistic,  the  moral  enhancement  of  the  receiver 
would  be  the  object  sought.  But  can  it  not  be  said  that 
for  every  individual  virtuous  merit  secured  by  an  act  of 


52  THIS  OLDER  GENERATION 

sacrifice  or  service  on  the  part  of  the  doer,  there  is  a  corre 
sponding  depression  on  the  part  of  the  receiver?  Do  we  not 
universally  recognize  this  by  calling  a  person  who  is  not 
conscious  of  this  depression  a  parasite,  and  the  person  who 
is  no  longer  capable  of  depression  a  pauper?  It  is  exactly 
those  free  gifts,  such  as  schools,  libraries,  and  so  forth,  which 
are  impersonal  or  social,  that  we  can  accept  gratefully  and 
gladly;  and  it  is  exactly  because  the  ministrations  of  a 
Charity  Organization  Society  are  impersonal  and  business 
like,  that  they  can  be  received  willingly,  and  without  moral 
depression,  by  the  poor. 

The  ideal  of  duty  is  equally  open  to  attack.  The  great 
complaint  of  the  younger  against  the  older  generation  has 
to  do  with  the  rigidity  of  the  social  relationships  into  which 
the  younger  find  themselves  born.  The  world  seems  to  be 
full  of  what  may  be  called  canalized  emotions.  One  is  "  sup 
posed"  to  love  one's  aunt  or  one's  grandfather  in  a  certain 
definite  way,  at  the  risk  of  being  "  unnatural."  One  gets  al 
most  a  sense  of  the  quantitative  measurement  of  emotion. 
Perhaps  the  greatest  tragedy  of  family  life  is  the  useless 
energy  that  is  expended  by  the  dutiful  in  keeping  these 
artificial  channels  open,  and  the  correct  amount  of  current 
running.  It  is  exactly  this  that  produces  most  infallibly  the 
rebellion  of  the  younger  generation.  To  hear  that  one  ought 
to  love  this  or  that  person;  or  to  hear  loyalty  spoken  of,  as 
the  older  generation  so  often  speaks  of  it,  as  if  it  consisted 
in  an  allegiance  to  something  which  one  no  longer  believes 
in  —  this  is  wiiat  soonest  liberates  those  forces  of  madness 
and  revolt  that  bewilder  spiritual  teachers  and  guides.  It  is 
those  dry  channels  of  duty  and  obligation  through  which  no 
living  waters  of  emotion  flow  that  it  is  the  ideal  of  the 
younger  generation  to  break  up.  They  will  have  no  net 
work  of  emotional  canals  that  are  not  brimming,  no  duties 
that  are  not  equally  loves. 


THIS  OLDER  GENERATION  53 

But  when  they  are  loves,  you  have  duty  no  longer  mean 
ing  very  much.  Duty,  like  sacrifice  and  service,  always  im 
plies  a  personal  relation  of  individuals.  You  are  always 
doing  your  duty  to  somebody  or  something.  Always  the 
taint  of  inequality  comes  in.  You  are  morally  superior  to 
the  person  who  has  duty  done  to  him.  If  that  duty  is  not 
filled  with  good-will  and  desire,  it  is  morally  hateful,  or  at 
very  best,  a  necessary  evil  —  one  of  those  compromises 
with  the  world  which  must  be  made  in  order  to  get  through 
it  at  all.  But  duty  without  good-will  is  a  compromise  with 
our  present  state  of  inequality,  and  to  rake  duty  to  the 
level  of  a  virtue  is  to  consecrate  that  state  of  inequality 
forevermore. 

It  is  the  same  thing  with  service.  The  older  generation 
has  attempted  an  insidious  compromise  with  the  new  social 
democracy  by  combining  the  words  "social"  and  "service." 
Under  cover  of  the  ideal  of  service,  it  tries  to  appropriate  to 
itself  the  glory  of  social  work,  and  succeeds  in  almost  con 
vincing  itself  and  the  world  that  its  Christianity  has  always 
held  the  same  ideal.  The  faithful  are  urged  to  extend  their 
activities.  The  assumption  is  that,  by  doing  good  to  more 
individuals,  you  are  thereby  becoming  social.  But  to  speak 
of  "social  democracy,"  —  which  of  course  means  a  freely 
cooperating,  freely  reciprocating  society  of  equals  —  and 
"service,"  together,  is  a  contradiction  of  terms.  For, 
when  you  serve  people  or  do  good  to  them,  you  thereby 
render  yourself  unequal  with  them.  You  insult  the  demo 
cratic  ideal.  If  the  service  is  compulsory,  it  is  menial  and 
you  are  inferior.  If  voluntary,  you  are  superior.  The  differ 
ence,  however,  is  only  academic.  The  entire  Christian 
scheme  is  a  clever  but  unsuccessful  attempt  to  cure  the 
evils  of  inequality  by  transposing  the  values.  The  slave 
serves  gladly  instead  of  servilely.  That  is,  he  turns  his  mas 
ter  into  a  slave.  That  is  why  good  Christian  people  can 


54  THIS  OLDER  GENERATION 

never  get  over  the  idea  that  Socialism  means  simply  the 
triumph  of  one  class  over  another.  To-day  the  proletarian 
is  down,  the  capitalist  up.  To-morrow  the  proletarian  will 
be  up  and  the  capitalist  down.  To  pull  down  the  mighty 
from  their  seats  and  exalt  them  of  low  degree  is  the  highest 
pitch  to  which  Christian  ethics  ever  attained.  The  failure 
of  the  older  generation  to  recognize  a  higher  ethic,  the  ethic 
of  democracy,  is  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble. 

The  notorious  Victorian  era,  which  in  its  secret  heart  this 
older  generation  still  admires  so  much,  accentuated  all  the 
latent  individualism  of  Christian  ethics,  and  produced  a 
code  which,  without  the  rebellion  of  the  younger  generation, 
would  have  spiritually  guaranteed  forever  all  moral  caste 
divisions  and  inequalities  of  modern  society.  The  Protest 
ant  Church,  in  which  this  exaggerated  ethic  was  enshrined, 
is  now  paying  heavily  the  price  of  this  debauch  of  ethical 
power.  Its  rapidly  declining  numbers  show  that  human  na 
ture  has  an  invincible  objection  to  being  individually  saved. 
The  Catholic  Church,  which  saves  men  as  members  of 
the  BelovedjjCommunity,  and  not  as  individuals,  flourishes. 
When  one  is  saved  by  Catholicism,  one  becomes  a  demo 
crat,  and  not  a  spiritual  snob  and  aristocrat,  as  one  does 
through  Calvinism.  The  older  generation  can  never  under 
stand  that  superb  loyalty  which  is  loyalty  to  a  community 
—  a  loyalty  which,  paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  nourishes 
the  true  social  personality  in  proportion  as  the  individual 
sense  is  lessened.  The  Protestant  Church,  in  its  tenacious 
devotion  to  the  personal  ideal  of  a  Divine  Master,  —  the 
highest  and  most  popular  Christian  ideal  of  to-day,  — 
shows  how  very  far  it  still  is  away  from  the  ideals  and 
ethics  of  a  social  democracy,  a  life  lived  in  the  Beloved 
Community. 

The  sense  of  self-respect  is  the  very  keystone  of  the  per 
sonality  in  whose  defense  all  this  individualistic  philosophy 


THIS  OLDER  GENERATION  55 

has  been  carefully  built  up.  The  Christian  virtues  date 
from  ages  when  there  was  a  vastly  greater  number  of  mor 
ally  depressed  people  than  there  is  now.  The  tenacious  sur 
vival  of  these  virtues  can  be  due  only  to  the  fact  that  they 
were  valuable  to  the  moral  prestige  of  some  class.  Our 
older  generation,  with  its  emphasis  on  duty,  sacrifice,  and 
service,  shows  us  very  clearly  what  those  interests  were.  I 
deliberately  accuse  the  older  generation  of  conserving  and 
greatly  strengthening  these  ideals,  as  a  defensive  measure. 
Morals  are  always  the  product  of  a  situation;  they  reflect  a 
certain  organization  of  human  relations,  which  some  class 
or  group  wishes  to  preserve.  A  moral  code  or  set  of  ideals  is 
always  the  invisible  spiritual  sign  of  a  visible  social  grace. 
In  an  effort  to  retain  the  status  quo  of  that  world  of  inequali 
ties  and  conventions  in  which  they  most  comfortably  and 
prosperously  live,  the  older  generation  has  stamped, 
through  all  its  agencies  of  family,  church,  and  school,  upon 
the  younger  generation,  just  those  seductive  ideals  which 
would  preserve  its  position.  These  old  virtues,  upon  which, 
however,  the  younger  generation  is  already  making  guerilla 
warfare,  are  simply  the  moral  support  with  which  the  older 
generation  buttresses  its  social  situation. 

The  natural  barriers  and  prejudices  by  which  our  elders 
are  cut  off  from  a  freely  flowing  democracy  are  thus  given 
a  spiritual  justification,  and  there  is  added  for  our  elders  the 
almost  sensual  luxury  of  leaping,  by  free  grace,  the  barriers, 
and  giving  themselves  away.  But  the  price  has  to  be  paid. 
Just  as  profits,  in  the  socialist  philosophy,  are  taken  to  be 
an  abstraction  from  wages,  through  the  economic  power 
which  one  class  has  over  another,  so  the  virtues  of  the  older 
generation  may  be  said  to  be  an  abstraction  from  the  virtue 
of  other  classes  less  favorably  situated  from  a  moral  or  per 
sonal  point  of  view.  Their  swollen  self-respect  is  at  the  ex 
pense  of  others. 


56  THIS  OLDER  GENERATION 

How  well  we  know  the  type  of  man  in  the  older  genera 
tion  who  has  been  doing  good  all  his  life!  How  his  person 
ality  has  thriven  on  it!  How  he  has  ceaselessly  been  storing 
away  moral  fat  in  every  cranny  of  his  soul!  His  goodness 
has  been  meat  to  him.  The  need  and  depression  of  other 
people  have  been,  all  unconsciously  to  him,  the  air  that  he 
has  breathed.  Without  their  compensating  misfortune  or 
sin,  his  goodness  would  have  wilted  and  died.  If  good 
people  would  earnestly  set  to  work  to  make  the  world  uni 
formly  healthy,  courageous,  beautiful,  and  prosperous,  the 
field  of  their  vocation  would  be  constantly  limited,  and  fin 
ally  destroyed.  That  they  so  stoutly  resist  all  philosophies 
and  movements  which  have  these  ends  primarily  in  view 
is  convincing  evidence  of  the  fierce  and  jealous  egoism 
which  animates  their  so  plausibly  altruistic  spirit.  One  sus 
pects  that  the  older  generation  does  not  want  its  vocation 
destroyed.  It  takes  an  heroic  type  of  goodness  to  under 
mine  all  the  foundations  on  which  our  virtue  rests. 

If  then  I  object  to  the  ethical  philosophy  of  the  older  gen 
eration,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  too  individualistic,  and, 
under  the  pretense  of  altruism,  too  egoistic,  I  object  to  its 
general  intellectuality  as  not  individual  enough.  Intellect 
ually  the  older  generation  seems  to  me  to  lead  far  too  vege 
tative  a  life.  It  may  be  that  this  life  has  been  lived  on  the 
heights,  that  these  souls  have  passed  through  fires  and 
glories,  but  there  is  generally  too  little  objective  evidence 
of  this  subjective  fact.  If  the  intuition  that  accompa 
nies  experience  has  verified  all  the  data  regarding  God, 
the  soul,  the  family,  and  so  forth,  —  to  quote  one  of  the 
stanchest  defenders  of  the  generation,  —  this  verification 
seems  to  have  been  obtained  rather  that  the  issues  might  be 
promptly  disposed  of  and  forgotten.  Certainly  the  older  gen 
eration  is  rarely  interested  in  the  profounder  issues  of  life. 
It  never  speaks  of  death  —  the  suggestion  makes  it  uncom- 


THIS  OLDER  GENERATION  57 

fortable.  It  shies  in  panic  at  hints  of  sex-issues.  It  seems  res 
olute  to  keep  life  on  as  objective  a  plane  as  possible.  It  is  no 
longer  curious  about  the  motives  and  feelings  of  people.  It 
seems  singularly  to  lack  the  psychological  sense.  If  it  gos 
sips,  it  recounts  actions,  effects;  it  rarely  seeks  to  interpret. 
It  tends  more  and  more  to  treat  human  beings  as  moving 
masses  of  matter  instead  of  as  personalities  filled  with  po 
tent  influence,  or  as  absorbingly  interesting  social  types,  as 
I  am  sure  the  younger  generation  does. 

The  older  generation  seems  no  longer  to  generalize  — • 
although  it  gives  every  evidence  of  having  once  prodi 
giously  generalized,  for  its  world  is  all  hardened  and  definite. 
There  are  the  good  and  the  criminal,  and  the  poor,  the 
people  who  can  be  called  nice,  and  the  ordinary  people. 
The  world  is  already  plotted  out.  Now  I  am  sure  that  the 
generalizations  of  the  truly  philosophical  mind  are  very 
fluid  and  ephemeral.  They  are  no  sooner  made  than  the 
mind  sees  their  insufficiency  and  has  to  break  them  up.  A 
new  cutting  is  made,  only  in  turn  to  be  shaken  and  rear 
ranged.  This  keeps  the  philosopher  thinking  all  the  time, 
and  it  makes  his  world  a  very  uncertain  place.  But  he  at 
least  runs  no  risk  of  hardening,  and  he  has  his  eyes  open  to 
most  experience. 

I  am  often  impressed  with  the  fact  that  the  older  genera 
tion  has  grown  weary  of  thinking.  It  has  simply  put  up  the 
bars  in  its  intellectual  shop-windows  and  gone  off  home  to 
rest.  It  may  well  be  that  this  is  because  it  has  felt  so  much 
sorrow  that  it  does  not  want  to  talk  about  sorrow,  or  so 
much  love  that  to  interpret  love  tires  it,  or  repulsed  so  many 
rude  blows  of  destiny  that  it  has  no  interest  in  speaking  of 
destiny.  Its  flame  may  be  low  for  the  very  reason  that  it 
has  burned  so  intensely.  But  how  many  of  the  younger 
generation  would  eagerly  long  for  such  interpretations  if 
the  older  would  only  reveal  them!  Ajid  how  little  plausible 


58  THIS  OLDER  GENERATION 

is  that  experience  when  it  is  occasionally  interpreted!  No, 
enthusiasm,  passion  for  ideas,  sensuality,  religious  fervor — 
all  the  heated  weapons  with  which  the  younger  generation 
attacks  the  world,  seem  only  to  make  the  older  generation 
uneasy.  The  spirit,  in  becoming  reconciled  to  life,  has  lost 
life  itself. 

As  I  seethe  older  generation  going  through  its  daily  round 
of  business,  church,  and  family  life,  I  cannot  help  feeling 
that  its  influence  is  profoundly  pernicious.  It  has  signally 
failed  to  broaden  its  institutions  for  the  larger  horizon  of  the 
time.  The  church  remains  a  private  club  of  comfortable 
middle-class  families,  while  outside  there  grows  up,  without 
spiritual  inspiration,  a  heterogeneous  mass  of  people  with 
out  ties,  roots,  or  principles.  The  town  changes  from  a 
village  to  an  industrial  centre,  and  church  and  school  go 
through  their  time-honored  and  listless  motions.  The  world 
widens,  society  expands,  formidable  crises  appear,  but  the 
older  generation  does  not  broaden;  or,  if  it  does,  the 
broadening  is  in  no  adequate  proportion  to  our  needs.  The 
older  generation  still  uses  the  old  ideas  for  the  new  problem. 
Whatever  new  wine  it  finds  must  be  poured  into  the  old 
bottles. 

Where  are  the  leaders  among  the  older  generation  in 
America  who,  with  luminous  faith  and  intelligence,  are 
rallying  around  them  the  disintegrated  numbers  of  idealis 
tic  youth,  as  Bergson  and  Barres  and  Jaures  have  done  in 
France?  A  few  years  ago  there  seemed  to  be  a  promise  of  a 
forward  movement  toward  Democracy,  led  by  battled  vet 
erans  in  a  war  against  privilege.  But  how  soon  the  older 
generation  became  wearied  in  the  march!  What  is  left  now 
of  that  shining  army  and  its  leader?  Must  the  younger  gen 
eration  eternally  wait  for  the  sign? 

The  answer  is,  of  course,  that  it  will  not  wait.  It  must 
shoulder  the  gigantic  task  of  putting  into  practice  its  ideals 


THIS  OLDER  GENERATION  59 

and  revolutionary  points  of  view  as  wholeheartedly  and 
successfully  as  our  great-grandfathers  applied  theirs  and 
tightened  the  philosophy  of  life  which  imprisons  the  older 
generation.  The  shuddering  fear  that  we  in  turn  may 
become  weary,  complacent,  evasive,  should  be  the  best 
preventive  of  that  stagnation.  We  shall  never  have  done 
looking  for  the  miracle,  that  it  shall  be  given  us  to  lighten, 
cheer,  and  purify  our  "younger  generation,"  even  as  our 
older  has  depressed  and  disintegrated  us. 


EDUCATION:  THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS 
OF  LIFE 

ARTHUR   E.   MORGAN 

THROUGHOUT  the  long  ages  during  which  education  has 
been  of  the  very  essence  of  life,  by  endless  selection  and  by 
the  relentless  test  of  time  a  natural  educational  method  has 
emerged,  which  has  a  wonderful  record  of  successful  appli 
cation  under  widely  varying  conditions.  We  are  not  sailing 
on  an  uncharted  sea;  for  although  innovators  have  come 
and  gone,  their  practices  warping  or  thwarting  the  lives 
which  have  come  under  then-  influence,  always  the  sound 
historic  method  has  survived,  being  wrought  ever  more 
firmly  into  our  lives. 

The  other  day  I  visited  a  school  where  this  method  is 
being  used  with  success.  It  consists  in  the  practice  of  the 
arts  of  life,  sometimes  with  the  assistance  of  the  teacher, 
sometimes  by  the  pupils  working  out  points  of  technic  with 
each  other,  when  the  teacher  is  not  present.  Occasionally  the 
teacher  will  reprove  or  punish,  most  often  because  pupils 
have  become  too  interested  and  boisterous  for  her  comfort. 
Once  I  saw  her  bring  a  new  problem  to  the  class,  and  direct 
attention  to  its  solution;  but  in  the  main  the  day's  work  is 
initiated  and  sustained  by  the  interest  of  the  pupils.  We 
have  here  two  of  the  fundamentals  of  sound  education: 
that  its  method  shall  include  and  mainly  consist  of  the 
practice  of  the  arts  of  life,  under  the  direction  and  inspira 
tion  of  competent  teachers;  and  that  effort  shall  be  initiated 
and  maintained,  not  primarily  by  outward  discipline,  but 
by  the  guided  interest  and  aspiration  of  the  pupil.  The 
curriculum  of  this  school  is  very  old,  the  best  data  indica- 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        61 

ting  that  it  has  been  in  continuous  use,  almost  without 
change,  for  one  or  two  million  years. 

I  had  been  watching  a  mother  cat  and  her  kittens.  A  cat 
must  be  able  to  catch  food,  to  fight,  and  to  distinguish  be 
tween  fighting  and  playing;  and  these  necessities  indicate 
what  to  it  are  some  of  the  principal  arts  of  life  to  be  mas 
tered.  As  I  observed  the  group,  the  kittens  in  play  would 
repeatedly  attack  the  mother,  she  would  retaliate,  and  then 
would  come  a  tussle,  in  which  the  kittens  would  use  all  the 
ability  they  possessed  in  efforts  to  parry  and  strike,  to  bite 
and  claw,  continually  imitating  the  mother.  Sometimes 
the  mother  would  begin  the  play,  but  usually  the  kittens, 
not  only  would  begin,  but  wrould  continue  with  such  inter 
est  and  vigor  that,  when  the  mother,  tired  out,  wanted  to 
stop  the  game,  she  would  have  to  punish  the  kittens  se 
verely  before  they  would  admit  that  the  lesson  period  was 
over.  Once,  a  mouse  she  had  caught  became  the  subject  of 
a  lesson,  the  kittens  trying  to  capture  it  while  it  attempted 
to  escape. 

As  I  watched  this  family  at  its  lessons,  I  thought  of 
changes  in  its  curriculum  which  would  be  made  by  those 
innovators  who  in  the  past  few  generations  have  been  teach 
ing  human  children  in  accordance  with  weird  theories  of 
education.  We  might  reasonably  expect  their  first  dictum 
to  be  that  we  must  not  trust  to  the  interests  of  the  kitten; 
that  what  it  needs  is  to  be  compelled  to  do  hard,  disagree 
able  tasks;  that  it  must,  under  duress,  take  great  pains  in 
developing  uninteresting,  useless  technic,  for  the  sake  of 
mental  discipline.  Perhaps  it  would  be  desirable  to  compel 
the  kitten  to  stand  on  its  head !  This  would  be  sufficiently 
unpleasant  and  useless,  and  the  discipline  so  acquired 
might  be  *  carried  over'  into  other  fields,  so  that  later,  when 
the  grown  cat  should  see  a  mouse,  it  might  be  possessed  of  a 
firm,  continuing  resolve  to  catch  it.  The  fact  that  it  would 


62  EDUCATION 

not  have  learned  how  to  catch  mice  would  be  a  minor  dis 
advantage,  which  could  be  overlooked. 

This  analogy  of  the  kittens  is  not  trivial.  The  instincts 
of  the  child,  although  more  complicated,  represent  the  re 
sultant  of  selective  tendencies  acting  through  the  ages.  Ed 
ucation  is  not  an  institution  devised  and  adopted  by  men, 
and  kept  alive  by  ceaseless  vigil.  It  is  an  innate  process  of 
human  life,  as  inherent  as  is  physical  development  from 
infancy  to  maturity.  Educational  stimuli  do  not  need  to 
be  produced  and  transmitted  to  the  child  by  external  appli 
cation.  They  unfailingly  originate  within  him,  just  as  surely 
as  do  hunger  and  thirst.  They  may  be  awakened,  guided, 
controlled,  trained;  inhibitions  may  be  removed; but  in  the 
main  they  work  according  to  their  own  laws.  To  have  faith 
in  creation  as  it  expresses  itself  in  the  instinctive  demand  of 
youth  for  education;  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  childhood  and  to 
learn  its  ways;  to  use  to  the  utmost,  and  to  direct  wisely,  its 
resources  of  interest  and  desire  —  this  is  educational  wis 
dom.  To  ignore  these  great  resources,  to  assume  that  we 
must  work  with  childhood  as  with  clay,  expecting  no  innate 
determining  activity  on  its  part,  but  merely  moulding  it  to 
fit  a  preconceived  conventional  type  —  this  is  educational 
tragedy. 

The  theories  which  educational  innovators  of  recent  cen 
turies  have  forced  upon  us  are  to  no  small  extent  a  direct  by 
product  of  the  doctrine  of  total  depravity.  Though  the  doc 
trine  itself  has  been  abandoned  by  men  of  modern  outlook, 
yet  its  implications  continue  to  control  our  conventional 
educational  system.  To  orthodox  American  educators,  a 
child's  tendencies  are  essentially  unreliable  and  are  largely 
bad.  These  men  require  that  the  child  shall  be  drilled  in 
useless  subject-matter,  that  his  life  shall  be  fitted  to  an 
intellectual  strait- jacket,  and  that  he  shall  smother  his  deep- 
rooted  love  for  adventure  and  inquiry,  accepting  their 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        63 

statements  as  final  authority;  and  when  the  spirit  of  youth 
rebels,  and  its  life,  thwarted  in  normal  growth,  expresses 
itself  in  unlovely  ways,  their  remedy  is  to  turn  the  screws 
still  tighter. 

This  point  of  view  was  admirably  expressed  by  a  writer 
in  the  "Atlantic." 

"From  beginning  to  end,  discipline  permeated  the  cur 
riculum  of  the  school  of  yesterday.  The  interests  of  the  in 
dividual  pupil  were  rarely,  if  ever,  consulted.  The  work 
assigned  was  to  be  done.  The  question  of  its  appeal,  of  its 
difficulty,  of  its  practical  value  to  the  particular  pupil,  was 
not  even  open  for  discussion.  And  what  splendid  men  and 
women  this  old-fashioned,  not  always  agreeable,  disciplinary 
education  developed!" 

A  great  number  of  men  who  have  another  outlook  be 
lieve  that  the  present-day  dissipation  of  youthful  energy  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  subject-matter  of  the  conventional 
school  has  very  little  relation  to  actual  life.  They  credit 
boys  and  girls  with  at  least  a  small  amount  of  that  same 
common  sense  which  inclines  mature  people  to  refuse  to  be 
interested  in  that  which,  they  believe,  in  no  way  concerns 
them.  They  believe  also  that,  as  the  faculties  of  men  grow 
gradually  through  use,  so  the  ability  to  exercise  discern 
ment,  initiative,  and  self-restraint  is  more  likely  to  be 
well  developed  if  the  youth  gradually  assumes  the  direction 
of  his  own  interests,  than  if  he  remains  under  complete  in 
tellectual  subordination  during  his  school-life  and  then 
suddenly  is  given  full  responsibility  for  himself.  But  in  the 
view  of  the  conventional  school  man  our  present  trouble 
with  dissipated  energies  does  not  result  from  too  much 
ignoring  of  interests.  In  the  article  quoted  above  we  find 
this  confession:  "Many  of  us  are  forced  to  believe,  and  with 
all  our  hearts,  that  at  the  root  of  this  deplorable  situation 
lies  a  widespread  acceptance  of  this  modern  doctrine  of 
yielding  to  the  interests  of  youth." 


64  EDUCATION 

Unfortunately,  a  reaction  from  this  doctrine  of  making 
a  tragedy  of  youth  by  almost  totally  ignoring  its  interests, 
has  carried  some  men  and  women  to  an  acceptance  of 
educational  anarchy.  One  educator  of  prominence  has  ex 
pressed  this  attitude  in  substantially  the  following  terms:  — 

When  God  creates  a  child,  He  endows  him  with  tenden 
cies  and  instincts  which,  if  allowed  free  play,  will  lead  to  his 
perfect  development.  Every  child  is  a  new  creation,  differ 
ing  from  every  other.  Except  as  he  may  have  become  ab 
normal  through  unfortunate  environment,  he  has  a  sacred 
right  of  freedom,  of  developing  just  what  is  in  him.  The 
teacher  in  his  finiteness  cannot  foresee  the  child's  possibili 
ties  and  has  no  right  to  direct  how  his  life  should  grow.  His 
sole  duty  is  to  furnish  a  full,  free  environment,  where  the 
child  can  become  just  what  it  is  in  him  to  become,  without 
let  or  hindrance.  He  should  have  little  discipline  except 
as  he  craves  it,  few  obligations  that  he  does  not  desire  and 
prefer  to  assume.  It  is  the  teacher's  duty  to  set  before  the 
child  truth,  wisdom,  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  leaving  him 
free  to  choose,  trusting  to  his  instincts  for  the  selection  of 
what  is  best  for  him.  In  this  way  only  can  the  untold  possi 
bilities  of  life  be  fulfilled.  Society  owes  it  to  the  child  to 
give  him  this  environment,  and  not  to  demand  any  serv 
ices  in  return  until  the  child's  maturity. 

It  would  seem  that  nothing  but  sheer  lack  of  sympathy 
and  imagination  would  lead  one  whole-heartedly  to  accept 
the  former  philosophy,  and  that  nothing  but  the  dreamers' 
utter  disregard  of  hard  facts  would  make  possible  the  com 
plete  acceptance  of  the  latter.  Infancy,  childhood,  and 
youth  represent  a  transition  from  nearly  complete  incom 
petence  to  maturity.  It  is  not  by  holding  dogmatically  to 
an  attitude,  but  by  a  continual  exercise  of  imagination, 
sympathy,  and  common  sense,  that  this  ever- varying  con 
dition  can  be  met.  At  no  time  can  the  instincts  and  the 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        65 

spontaneous  interests  of  the  child  be  ignored  without  most 
serious  consequences;  and  at  no  time  should  these  interests, 
frequently  casual  or  trivial,  and  supported  by  a  frail,  imma 
ture  will,  without  some  degree  of  reinforcement,  direction, 
and  control,  be  allowed  to  determine  his  activities.  Certain 
basic  human  qualities,  such  as  integrity,  courage,  and 
patience,  have  been  proved  so  universally  to  be  desirable; 
and  others,  such  as  dishonesty,  cruelty,  obscenity,  are  so 
unfailingly  destructive  of  personal  and  social  welfare,  that 
within  certain  indefinite  limits,  which  liberal  common  sense 
must  endeavor  to  ascertain,  we  are  bound  to  use  our  best 
efforts  to  direct  the  course  of  youthful  development.  An 
acknowledgment  of  this  duty  should  in  no  wise  weaken  a 
profound  reverence  for  the  hidden  possibilities  of  youth, 
or  the  resolution  to  allow  these  possibilities  to  develop  ac 
cording  to  their  own  laws,  and  without  our  inhibitive 
interference. 

The  innovators  who  would  almost  totally  ignore  the 
interests  of  childhood  have  had  for  a  few  generations  al 
most  entire  control  of  the  educational  machinery  of 
America;  but  although  they  could  for  a  time  control  the 
machinery,  the  instinct  for  education  in  youth  was  too 
strong  to  be  killed.  While  they  thought  that  they  were  the 
educators  of  the  country,  they  were,  in  fact,  but  filling  in  a 
few  of  the  gaps  in  the  educational  system. 

For  instance,  the  ordinary  life  of  early  New  England 
furnished  occasion  for  the  development  of  many  qualities 
which  go  to  make  good  men.  Home  industry  supplied  most 
material  necessities.  To  become  able  to  produce  them  re 
quired  extensive  technical  training.  It  was  getting  this 
training  in  the  home,  with  the  discipline  it  implied,  which 
constituted  the  major  part  of  the  young  New  Englander's 
education;  and  the  problem  of  the  school  was  so  to  supple 
ment  this  home-environment  that  the  home  and  the 


66  EDUCATION 

school  taken  together  would  furnish  the  conditions  neces 
sary  to  produce  the  completely  developed  man.  We  miss 
the  point  when  we  single  out  from  the  whole  circle  that 
small  arc  which  consisted  of  formal  schooling,  and  style  it 
New  England  education.  The  dean  of  the  college  of  educa 
tion  in  one  of  our  largest  universities  recently  remarked 
that,  during  his  boyhood  on  the  farm,  he  had  but  three 
months  in  the  year  of  schooling,  which  left  nine  months  for 
him  to  get  an  education. 

~~Ks  education  through  home  arts  has  declined,  people 
have  begun  to  realize  that  the  school-house  has  received  too 
much  credit,  and  the  barn  not  enough.  So  we  are  beginning 
to  reproduce  the  latter  in  our  educational  system,  as  wit 
ness  our  farm-schools,  trade-schools,  mechanics'  institutes, 
and  the  modern  trend  toward  "practical"  education.  Just 
now  we  have  a  feud  between  the  barn  and  the  school-house. 
Some  of  the  men  who  have  rediscovered  the  barn,  and  are 
building  these  "practical"  schools,  and  even  some  of  our 
advanced  technical  schools,  despise  any  training  that  can 
not  be  measured  in  terms  of  the  pocketbook.  As  for  our 
classical  men,  they  usually  have  denied  even  the  existence 
of  the  barn  as  an  educational  institution.  In  the  few  cases 
in  which  they  have  seen  the  need  of  training  in  the  arts  of 
life,  they  have  looked  upon  it  as  more  or  less  menial,  suited 
only  to  those  who  are  to  become  hewers  of  wood  and  draw 
ers  of  water. 

Recently  I  observed  a  most  pathetic  instance  of  this  tra 
ditional  attitude.  In  a  large  eastern  city  is  a  group  of  men 
and  women  who  consider  themselves,  and  are  accepted  as, 
the  acme  of  American  culture.  Their  own  boys  are  edu 
cated  in  classical  secondary  schools,  known  throughout  the 
country  for  their  fine  traditions.  In  these  schools,  aside 
from  athletics  and  a  small  amount  of  manual  training, 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        67 

there  is  little  training  in  the  coordination  of  muscle,  nerve, 
and  brain,  or  in  initiative  and  self-reliance.  The  education 
is  largely  that  of  a  priest,  a  lawyer,  or  a  gentleman  of  one  or 
two  hundred  years  ago.  But  these  same  men,  realizing  that 
some  children  should  have  a  different  kind  of  training,  many 
years  ago  created  a  trade-school  to  which  they  send  "  de 
serving  boys  of  limited  means."  Here  I  found  sound,  nor 
mal  boys  in  a  "practical " atmosphere,  getting  a  " practical " 
education.  They  had  conventional  school-work  of  the 
grammar  grades,  and  in  addition  learned  to  be  printers, 
machinists,  carpenters,  and  farmers. 

The  great  city  is  only  three  miles  away,  with  its  museums, 
music,  operas,  libraries,  and  all  that  a  centre  of  American 
culture  can  give;  yet  each  boy  leaves  the  school  grounds 
only  two  to  four  times  a  year.  If  a  boy,  after  months  of  this 
complete  isolation,  goes  to  the  city  without  permission,  he 
is  subject  to  dismissal.  It  would  be  impossible  to  design 
furniture  more  cheaply,  drearily  ugly  than  that  in  the 
dining-room.  The  chairs,  which  cost  sixty-five  cents  each, 
are  like  those  that  can  be  bought  in  any  cheap  furniture 
store.  The  dormitory  is  a  huge  barn-like  room,  with  long 
rows  of  little  white  cots,  absolutely  the  only  other  individ 
ual  furniture  in  the  room  being  a  harness-hook  on  the  wall 
for  each  boy,  where  he  may  hang  his  clothes. 

This  is  a  literally  truthful  account  of  a  "practical" 
school,  sending  out  American  boys  into  life  in  American 
cities.  The  master  is  a  man  of  substantial  native  ability, 
who  would  react  quickly  to  any  opportunity  for  better 
things;  but  he  has  little  voice  in  determining  policies.  The 
school  is  financed  and  controlled  by  men  who  represent  the 
cream  of  American  culture,  graduates  of  a  great  and  grand 
old  University,  where  their  classical  training  was  dominated 
by  the  "  humanities." 


68  EDUCATION 

As  I  left  the  institution  I  thought  of  Lanier's  plaint:  — 

Alas,  for  the  poor  to  have  some  part 
In  yon  sweet  living  lands  of  art, 
Makes  problem  not  for  head,  but  heart. 
Vainly  might  Plato's  brain  revolve  it: 
Plainly  the  heart  of  a  child  could  solve  it. 

The  East  is  not  alone  at  fault.  In  a  large  Western  city  an 
endowment  of  five  million  dollars  recently  has  been  pro 
vided  to  found  a  trade-school.  The  head  of  this  institution 
has  complete  freedom  of  action.  He  requires  every  working 
boy  who  enters  the  institution  to  be  actively  engaged  in  the 
particular  trade  in  which  he  studies,  and  his  school- work 
is  confined  to  adding  to  his  expertness  in  that  trade.  When 
I  asked  whether  this  system  did  not  narrow  the  pupil  and 
prevent  the  development  of  larger  appreciation  of  life,  I  re 
ceived  the  reply  that  it  might  be  unfortunate  for  these  boys 
to  have  appreciations  developed  which  would  make  them 
discontented  with  their  lot.  The  head  of  this  institution 
accepts  enthusiastically  the  spirit  of  the  German  educa 
tional  system. 

In  this  same  city  I  found  a  typical  stereotyped  classical 
secondary  school,  where  the  chief  object  would  seem  to  be 
to  eliminate  contact  with  life.  To  do  this  more  effectively, 
the  school  is  placed  so  far  out  of  the  city  that  it  takes  two 
hours  each  day  to  go  and  come.  No  use  is  made  of  the 
country  space  except  to  provide  an  athletic  field,  and  the 
curriculum  has  made  practically  no  concessions  to  know 
ledge  that  men  have  gained  during  the  last  century.  Wher 
ever  possible,  this  institution  has  adopted  the  forms  and 
terminology  of  the  great  English  public  schools.  Wealthy 
business  men  send  their  boys  there  to  prepare  them  for 
college. 

The  two  phases  of  education  ought  never  to  have  been 
separated,  and  it  is  because  we  habitually  adopt  current 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        69 

ideas  rather  than  create  our  own  that  we  have  continued  to 
think  of  them  as  distinct,  and  as  requiring  separate  institu 
tions.  In  planning  the  education  of  a  child  it  is  our  duty 
deliberately  to  determine  as  fully  as  possible  what  expe 
riences  and  environments  are  necessary  in  order  that  he 
may  come  to  his  fullest  development.  Some  of  these  we 
may  reasonably  expect  him  to  have  in  his  everyday  life. 
Others  he  will  not  have  unless  we  intentionally  provide  for 
them.  The  whole  duty  of  the  educator  is  this  —  to  supple 
ment  the  ordinary  contacts  of  life  with  others,  so  that  the 
entire  environment  will  develop  to  the  fullest  the  possibili 
ties  of  the  child.  It  follows  that  the  content  of  formal  edu 
cation  cannot  be  fixed,  but  must  change  continually,  so  as 
always  to  supplement  and  complete  the  continually  vary 
ing  environment  and  experiences  of  everyday  life.  With 
the  unprecedented  rapidity  of  changes  in  the  modern  world, 
only  by  intentional,  keen  analysis  of  the  situation,  by  main 
taining  a  perpetual  inventory,  can  we  hope  to  make  the 
necessary  adjustments.  Only  live  fish  can  swim  upstream 
in  the  present-day  educational  current;  and  educational 
duty  cannot  be  fulfilled  by  industrious  labor  in  the  ways  of 
yesterday. 

For  education,  as  it  has  come  down  through  the  ages, 
consists  always  of  learning  how  to  live  to-day  through  mas 
tery  of  the  arts  of  life  of  to-day;  and  in  the  arts  of  life  I 
would  include  every  normal  ability  or  competence  of  body 
and  of  mind.  That  educational  system  is  incomplete  which 
does  not  keep  open  the  vistas  of  life  in  every  direction. 
Nothing  that  is  essential  to  a  fully  developed  life,  and 
is  not  being  acquired  elsewhere,  can  safely  be  omitted.  We 
cannot  ignore  material  interests.  Whether  we  consider 
artist,  professional  man,  or  laborer,  the  embarrassments 
and  inefficiency  of  everyday  life  are  decreased,  and  its  free 
dom  enlarged,  by  the  possession  of  a  working  knowledge  of 


70  EDUCATION 

commercial  usages,  of  the  art  of  being  solvent,  of  apprais 
ing  accurately  one's  possessions,  of  correctly  measuring  and 
judging  material  values.  Every  man  should  be  master  of 
the  elementary  principles  and  technic  of  ordinary  business 
affairs. 

When  the  home  does  not  teach  good  manners  the  school 
should  do  so.  In  so  far  as  the  home  opens  up  the  possibili 
ties  of  literature,  or  of  any  other  field,  the  school  need  not. 
The  religious  Me  cannot  be  ignored.  Aspirations,  high 
ideals  of  conduct,  wonder,  humility,  and  reverence  before 
Me  and  the  source  of  Me,  consecration  to  convictions,  un 
selfishness,  love  of  our  fellow  men,  the  relation  of  moral 
standards  to  industry  —  all  these  can  be  considered  or  en 
couraged  without  offense  in  almost  any  school.  A  realiza 
tion  of  the  need  of  intellectual  integrity  and  independence 
cannot  always  be  imparted  without  offense,  but  the  need  is 
vital  to  any  sound  system  of  education.  Given  this  range 
of  interests,  training  in  religious  doctrines  may  be  left  safely 
to  other  agencies. 

We  should  try  to  inspire  the  habit  of  searching  out  what 
is  the  burden  of  the  world's  wisdom  and  judgment  in 
reference  to  the  main  issues  of  life.  This  demands  a  live 
knowledge  of  history,  literature,  and  biography.  We 
should  develop  the  habit  of  questioning  and  examining  ac 
cepted  beliefs,  whether  of  common  knowledge,  or  in  science, 
business,  morals,  or  other  fields.  Youth  should  be  encour 
aged  to  work  out  for  itself  tentative  standards  of  economic, 
moral,  and  spiritual  values;  to  pay  heed  to  its  use  of  time 
and  resources;  to  define  its  attitude  toward  industry  and 
social  life,  toward  the  live  issues  of  the  day,  and  toward  life 
itself.  No  educational  system  is  complete  if  its  aim  is  so  to 
engross  the  attention  of  men  and  women,  either  in  indus 
trial,  professional,  or  social  life,  or  in  the  pursuit  and  en 
joyment  of  culture,  that  they  will  not  have  time  to  ask 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        71 

themselves  the  question,  "What  is  it  all  about? "  To  have 
asked  this  question,  and  to  have  reached  a  satisfactory  at 
titude,  which  is  not  out  of  harmony  with  modern  knowledge, 
is  necessary  to  a  teacher  who  is  to  direct  wisely  the  aspira 
tions  of  youth. 

Any  educational  system  is  seriously  at  fault  which  does 
not  develop  a  habit  of  laying  claim  to  life's  fine  resources. 
The  environment  of  the  child  should  result  in  opening  eyes 
and  mind  to  natural  phenomena,  to  life-processes  and  hab 
its  of  plants  and  animals,  to  the  data  of  geology,  of  physics, 
and  of  astronomy;  and  to  the  appeal  of  good  literature, 
poetry,  history,  and  of  the  various  forms  of  art.  We  should 
include  in  our  programme  the  development  of  social  rela 
tionships,  interests,  and  responsibilities.  Habits  should  be 
acquired  of  effective  expression,  of  cbnsiderateness  and 
goodwill,  and  of  the  elimination  of  social  friction  through 
the  medium  of  courtesy,  good  manners,  and  "good  form," 
this  good  form  to  consist  of  consummate  skill  in  living  the 
Golden  Rule,  not  of  proficiency  in  the  mannerisms  of  an  ex 
clusive  social  class. 

Independence,  originality,  and  initiative  are  mighty 
factors  in  human  progress,  but  they  find  little  opportunity 
for  development  in  obedient  poring  over  the  prescribed 
daily  lesson  in  the  classroom.  In  many  individual  cases 
these  high  qualities  actually  survive  eight  or  twelve  years 
of  routine  plodding  in  our  conventional  schools  —  eloquent 
testimony  as  to  how  nearly  ineradicable  they  are.  The 
spirit  of  adventure,  so  nearly  universal  in  youth,  commonly 
is  thwarted  at  every  turn.  Yet  this  is  one  of  its  finest  gifts; 
when  it  has  gone,  life's  greatest  promise  is  past.  An  educa 
tional  system  should  nurture  and  direct  this  spirit,  bring 
ing  it  to  expression  in  a  daring  to  aim  at  high  standards,  in 
adventures  into  new  fields  of  action,  thought,  and  know 
ledge;  in  a  desire  for  the  hard,  strenuous  things  which 


72  EDUCATION 

temper  and  stabilize  character.  The  sporting  instinct  of 
youth  demands  these  difficult  tasks,  and  life  is  stale  when 
they  cannot  be  found. 

While  youth  has  these  fine  qualities  so  strongly  rooted,  it 
frequently  lacks  the  wisdom  or  outlook  to  define  the  objects 
of  its  enthusiasms,  and  commonly  adopts  those  of  surround 
ing  groups  or  individuals.  To  the  father  or  teacher  these 
qualities  are  treasures  handed  over  to  his  keeping,  for  him 
to  direct  toward  whatever  ends  he  will.  If  he  fails  to  direct 
them  at  all,  or  endeavors  to  suppress  them  because  they  do 
not  fit  a  routine  programme,  they  find  objects  for  them 
selves,  often  on  those  low  planes  which  commonplace  life 
everywhere  suggests. 

/  v  In  the  end  it  is  the  mastery  of  all  these  arts  of  life,  and 
not  Greek  and  Latin,  algebra  and  geometry,  that  is  educa 
tion.  As  we  bear  this  fact  clearly  in  mind,  the  relative  im 
portance  of  subjects  begins  to  change,  to  become  greater  or 
less,  as  they  contribute  to  the  final  result.  To-day  Amer 
ican  education  is  breaking  free  from  its  impediments,  and  is 
groping  its  way  back  to  the  ages-old  method  of  learning  by 
practising  the  arts  of  life. 

The  following  description  is  of  incidents  that  have  come 
within  my  experience,  all  during  the  last  few  months,  though 
not  all  in  the  same  school.  They  do  not  portray  a  system, 
but  only  casual  intimations  of  a  new  day. 

In  a  certain  primary  school  I  found  many  of  the  little 
children  keeping  chickens  and  selling  eggs.  With  eggs  sell 
ing  for  fifty  cents  a  dozen,  even  the  younger  children  had 
learned  all  the  common  divisions  of  fifty.  As  they  had  not 
yet  mastered  the  intricacies  of  pounds  and  bushels,  the 
youngest  bought  feed  in  small  quantities,  a  few  cents* 
worth  at  a  time.  The  older  children,  who  were  able  to  cal 
culate  the  cost,  took  the  part  of  dealers.  A  boy  of  high- 
school  age  was  wholesaler,  buying  feed  by  the  ton  for  all 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        73 

chickens  and  cattle,  and  selling  it  in  lots  of  twenty  pounds 
or  less.  They  built  playhouses,  made  and  decorated  holiday 
dresses,  and  made  crude  pottery.  Definite  comparison  of 
these  children  with  children  in  conventional  schools  indi 
cated,  not  only  superior  development  of  hand  and  eye  and 
better  developed  initiative,  but  also  that  they  were  further 
advanced  in  the  subject-matter  of  the  conventional  school. 
At  a  bank  administered  by  pupils  in  the  school  building, 
checks  were  cashed  in  payment  for  purchases  and  for  labor 
or  other  services.  Every  pupil  had  money  on  deposit. 
Standard  accounting  methods  were  used,  and  a  daily  bal 
ance  was  kept  of  each  pupil's  account. 

During  the  past  winter  the  main  school  building,  formerly 
used  as  a  hotel,  had  burned  down.  In  erecting  the  new 
building  the  boys  of  high-school  age  had  done  about  sixty 
per  cent  of  the  work,  outside  of  school  hours,  this  labor  hav 
ing  a  value  of  about  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  In  printing,  in 
editing  the  school  newspaper,  and  in  gardening,  the  same 
enterprise  was  apparent. 

Some  of  the  day  pupils,  who  are  children  of  foreign  labor 
ers  and  soon  will  drop  out  of  school,  receive  credit  for  pro 
gress  in  the  manner  of  making  beds,  caring  for  baby,  and 
sweeping  the  house.  Under  the  teaching  of  a  competent 
doctor  and  a  nurse,  the  girls  take  care  of  babies  in  various 
families  in  the  town,  this  work  being  designated  as  mother- 
craft.  Arrangements  are  made  for  the  boys  and  girls  to  be 
guests  of  educated  people  of  moderate  means,  getting 
glimpses  of  refined  living  conditions.  These  people  have 
not  forgotten  that  to  the  immigrant  child  the  interior  of 
a  well-to-do  American  home  is  as  unfamiliar  as  a  Chinese 
temple. 

The  headmaster  and  his  wife  live  on  the  campus  in  a 
carefully  furnished  house.  Pupils  who  are  to  meet  the  mas 
ter  find  him  there  in  the  living-room  before  a  fireplace,  and 


74  EDUCATION 

for  the  time  being  are  his  guests.  A  class  in  domestic 
science  was  combined  with  one  in  commercial  arithmetic. 
In  groups  of  two  the  young  people  of  high-school  age  chose 
building  lots  in  various  parts  of  the  city,  made  deals  for 
purchasing  the  lots,  worked  out  problems  of  taxes  and 
special  assessments  as  applied  to  them,  determining  the 
apportioning  of  taxes  among  such  interests  as  education, 
police  protection,  and  sanitation,  and  then  planned  houses 
to  be  built  on  them.  The  domestic-science  teacher  helped 
in  planning  the  arrangement  and  in  furnishing  the  rooms. 

On  looking  into  the  classwork  I  found  a  great  variety  of 
progress.  In  grammar-school  subjects,  such  as  arithmetic, 
spelling,  and  grammar,  each  pupil  progressed  as  his  own 
abilities  determined.  Pupils  who  had  done  good  work  were 
"on  self-reliance."  Stopping  one  boy  at  his  work,  I  asked 
him  what  that  meant,  and  he  replied:  "  You  see,  when  you 
are  on  self-reliance  you  can  do  as  you  please.  I  had  grad 
uated  from  the  seventh  grade  in  history  and  geography, 
but  I  was  only  jn  the  sixth  grade  in  arithmetic.  Now  that  I 
am  on  self-reliance,  I  can  spend  all  the  time  I  want  to  on 
arithmetic,  and  can  catch  up." 

In  a  class  that  seemed  proof  against  uny  interest  in  lit 
erature  two  boys,  who  were  caring  for  the  cows,  asked  if 
they  might,  as  their  work  in  English,  read  government 
bulletins  on  Holstein  cattle.  Starting  with  this,  their  atten 
tion  was  attracted  to  parts  that  might  have  been  written 
better.  Comparison  was  made  with  the  style  of  classic 
authors,  stories  of  keen  interest  to  boys  being  taken  as 
examples,  and  before  the  season  was  half  over  they  found 
themselves  reading  good  literature  with  the  beginnings  of 
appreciation.  I  found  much  reading  of  good  books,  and 
much  effort  at  original  composition. 

All  this  and  much  more  I  have  seen  during  recent 
months.  In  many  schools  over  the  United  States  one  meets 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        75 

flashes  of  sanity  as  expressed  in  devices  for  modernizing 
school  methods  and  aims,  and  these  are  now  leading  to  an 
orderly  presentation  of  fundamental  principles.  Life's 
activities,  whether  social,  industrial,  creative,  or  cultural, 
are  made  up  of  a  few  great  fundamental  arts  or  occupations. 
Whether  or  not  life  as  a  whole  is  a  success  depends  on 
whether  or  not  these  activities  are  pursued  successfully. 
The  aim  of  education  is  to  prepare  for  and  bring  about  their 
successful  following.  "Certain  acquirements,  such  as  skill  in 
reading,  writing,  and  numbers,  and  the  possession  of  the 
fundamental  facts  in  any  field  of  knowledge,  constitute  the 
tools  of  life,  without  which  men  cannot  function  effectively. 
Every  well-considered  action  and  every  sound  deduction  of 
reason  must  be  dependent  upon  the  possession  of  skill  and 
knowledge,  or,  to  use  a  more  formal  expression,  upon  the 
possession  of  the  necessary  technic  and  of  the  pertinent 
data.  This  underlying  preparation  must  be  secured,  if  not 
by  interesting  adventures,  then  by  patient  drill  and  drudg 
ery.  Yet  we  should  value  such  accomplishment  somewhat 
as  we  do  money,  considering  it  not  as  valuable  in  itself,  but 
as  an  almost  indispensable  medium  of  accomplishment. 

Just  as  money  when  possessed  for  its  own  sake  is  a  burden, 
so  any  knowledge  is  a  useless  impediment,  which  cannot, 
when  occasion  offers,  function  in  some  normal  activity  or 
appreciation,  or  in  some  sound  deduction.  The  educational 
process  should  consist,  not  primarily  in  gaining  this  infor 
mation,  but  in  the  practice  of  the  arts  or  occupations  of 
life.  Obviously,  then,  the  school  must  enable  the  arts  of 
life  to  be  practiced.  It  should  furnish  the  inspiration  and 
the  occasion  for  each  child  to  undertake  adventures  in 
which  he  is  or  can  be  interested,  and  by  means  of  which  he 
will  acquire  some  of  the  necessary  habits,  skill,  knowledge, 
and  initiative  which  will  fit  him  to  live.  It  should  be  the 
business  of  the  teacher  so  to  inspire  the  choice  of  projects  or 


76  EDUCATION 

adventures,  and  so  to  direct  the  work,that  in  the  doing  of  it 
these  qualities  will  be  developed.  A  child  might  take  for  a 
project  making  a  garden,  building  a  boat,  or  preparing  for 
college.  Several  pupils  may  work  upon  a  group -project;  or 
they  may  have  more  than  one  at  a  time.  Through  the  pu 
pil's  interest  in  such  projects,  related  subject-matter  will  be 
introduced.  The  choice  of  an  adventure  is  of  prime  import 
ance  only  as  it  furnishes  for  a  longer  or  shorter  time  the  best 
instrumentality  for  the  child's  development. 

Drill  and  routine  cannot  be  eliminated  and  leave  training 
normal  or  complete.  But  generally  they  can  be  given  value 
in  the  pupil's  estimation.  Pupils  learn  most  effectively  and 
with  the  minimum  loss  of  time  if  taught  through,  rather 
than  in  opposition  to,  their  interests.  Boys  and  girls  do  not 
always  rebel  against  drudgery,  —  indeed,  what  could  ex 
ceed  in  routine  and  drudgery  pulling  a  sled  up  hill,  over  and 
over  again,  for  half  a  day?  —  but  they  do  object  when  it  has 
no  obvious  connection  with  that  which  they  value.  If  we 
find  a  final  residuum  of  drill  which  cannot  be  made  inci 
dental  to  a  project,  such  as  drill  in  the  rudiments  of  arith 
metic  or  in  spelling,  we  still  can  take  away  the  deadliness  of 
the  drudgery  if  we  will  use  the  resources  of  human  nature. 

Recently  the  colored  man  who  mows  my  lawn  changed 
his  basis  from  time-work  to  piece- wort.  When  I  came  to  pay 
him  at  his  old  rate  for  work  done  in  a  surprisingly  short 
time,  he  protested,  "Boss,  I  thought  I  was  working  by  the 
job,  and  you  know  nobody  works  by  the  hour  like  he  does 
by  the  job."  Few  of  us  can  work  with  keen  zest  at  a  task  of 
endless  repetition,  where  the  degree  of  excellence  of  the 
work  done  has  no  bearing  on  the  compensation.  Only  a  fool 
would  enjoy  spending  his  life  in  sweeping  back  the  tide. 
Sane  men  —  and  sane  boys  —  demand  results  commen 
surate  with  the  investment.  We  give  a  boy  his  spelling 
lesson,  an  hour  a  day,  month  after  month  and  year  after 


THE  MASTERY  OF  THE  ARTS  OF  LIFE        77 

year.  He  knows  that  no  excellence  of  service  will  relieve 
that  drudgery,  and  he  has  not  the  experience  or  capacity 
necessary  for  a  vital  appreciation  of  final  profit  in  the  far- 
off  years.  Suppose  that,  in  case  we  must  teach  spelling  by 
the  book,  we  give  him  a  list  of  a  hundred  or  two  hundred 
words  which  he  must  master  during  the  month,  and  tell 
him  that,  when  they  are  learned,  his  spelling  period  during 
the  remainder  of  the  month  will  be  free  for  his  own  pleas 
ures,  or  for  work  he  likes?  So  can  even  the  residuum  of 
drudgery  be  made  lighter,  and  the  keenness  of  life  main 
tained. 

In  the  school  of  the  future  the  mastery  of  the  arts  or 
occupations  of  life  will  be  the  end  and  aim  of  education. 
The  method  of  education  will  be  the  practice  of  those  arts. 
Subject-matter  and  technic  will  furnish  the  tools  needed  in 
acquiring  and  exercising  this  mastery.  Projects  will  furnish 
the  occasion  to  awaken  and  maintain  the  interest  and  the 
incentive  for  effort  in  acquiring  subject-matter  and  technic, 
and  in  practising  the  occupations  of  life.  By  recognizing 
the  inherent  spontaneity  of  the  interests  and  aspirations  of 
childhood,  the  greatest  of  educational  assets  will  be  com 
manded.  The  school  of  the  future  will  be  protean.  It  will 
overflow  into  all  parts  of  the  community,  utilizing  farm, 
home,  factory,  store,  and  office.  There  will  be  time  for 
team-work,  for  group-play,  for  class- work,  but  much  of  the 
time  will  be  spent  singly  or  in  groups,  with  the  teachers' 
guidance,  in  working  out  the  project,  with  its  ramifications 
into  literature,  mathematics,  science,  history,  physical 
labor,  and  business  dealings. 


INTERCOLLEGIATE  ATHLETICS  AND 
THE   WAR 

L.    B.    R.    BRIGGS 

WHEN  America  declared  war  on  Germany,  nothing,  not 
even  our  money,  disappeared  faster  than  our  college  athle 
tic  teams.  This  is  a  war  of  which  students  are  quick  to  see 
the  meaning;  and  while  certain  mechanics  seize  the  opportu 
nity  for  an  increased  pay  that  will  allow  their  comforts  to  re 
main  undiminished  and  will  strengthen  their  hold  on  po 
litical  power,  thousands  of  young  men,  with  everything  that 
would  seem  to  promise  worldly  comfort,  stake  instantly, 
and  as  a  matter  of  course,  their  hopes  and  their  lives  at 
the  first  call  of  the  "  voice  without  reply."  And  this  they  do 
for  a  war  in  which  the  part  played  by  romance  —  as  the 
word  is  commonly  understood  —  seems  unprecedentedly 
small.  An  athlete  would  be  expected  to  accept,  out  of  hand, 
the  sporting  challenge  of  old-fashioned  warfare  —  to  lead 
mad  cavalry  charges,  to  match  himself  like  a  knight  of  old 
with  every  newcomer,  as  man  against  man;  but  outside  of 
certain  naval  activities,  and  of  aviation,  that  supreme  test 
of  sportsmanship  in  life  and  death,  the  call  of  this  war  is  a 
call,  first,  to  the  unrelieved  monotony  of  the  camp,  and  next, 
to  the  unrelieved  horror  of  the  machine-gun  and  the  gas- 
bomb.  These  pampered  boys,  who  insisted  on  special  train 
ing-tables,  who  craved  special  or  limited  trains,  who  had  to 
be  kept  good-natured  and  happy  before  big  games  by  auto 
mobile  rides  and  musical  comedies,  and  who,  if  victorious, 
would  have  felt  slighted  without  complimentary  dinners; 
boys  coached  by  men  who  scorned  street  cars  and  scarcely 
used  their  legs  except  on  the  field;  boys  waited  on  by  a 


ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR  79 

series  of  stewards  called  managers,  and  supported  by  sec 
ond  teams  who  required  eatable  and  drinkable  rewards  of  a 
service  which  they  struggled  for  the  honor  of  performing 
—  these  boys  gave  proof  unmistakable  that  they  were  not 
spoiled,  that  they  still  were  men,  or,  rather,  were  men  at 
last;  that  they  could  leave  all  and  follow  an  ideal  which 
some  of  us  saw  in  only  a  few  of  them,  which  probably  only 
a  few  of  them  saw  in  themselves.  This  war  has  come  nearer 
justifying  our  methods  in  intercollegiate  athletics  than  we 
had  thought  possible. 

Nevertheless,  our  methods  had  tremendous  faults  of 
which  we  were  aware,  —  some  of  us  dimly,  some  of  us 
plainly,  —  and  of  which  we  seemed  unable  to  rid  them. 
Reforming  athletics  is  about  as  hard  as  reforming  society. 
A  convulsion  may  reform  either;  and  a  convulsion  has  come. 
What  seemed  to  coaches  and  players  the  biggest  thing  in 
life  —  so  vital  that  every  smallest  part  of  it  was  of  almost 
sacred  import  —  is,  for  the  time  being,  scarcely  important 
enough  for  its  own  health.  Coaches  once  moved  heaven  and 
earth  to  prove  eligible  a  man  whom  nothing  but  the  annihi 
lation  of  four  or  five  other  candidates  for  the  same  position 
would  tempt  them  to  use  in  a  big  game.  Now,  —  with 
every  need  of  every  man  who  can  play  at  all,  —  eligibility 
has  taken  a  back  seat,  where  it  belongs.  Now,  such  under 
graduates  and  coaches  as  remain  may  be  conceived  of  as 
studying  economy.  Once,  nobody  was  surprised  if  a  man 
ager  contended  that  it  was  squabs  and  victory  or  chickens 
and  crushing  defeat.  Now,  a  team  is  lucky  if  it  gets  the 
necessities  of  life,  lucky  in  being  a  team  at  all,  and  is  grate 
ful  for  mere  existence. 

Fevers  used  to  be  treated  by  bleeding;  if  the  patient  sur 
vived,  he  had  to  be  built  up.  Our  patient  is  so  reduced  that 
he  needs  building  up;  it  is  for  us,  and  for  those  whom  we 
represent,  to  prescribe  the  nature  and  the  amount  of  his 


80  ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR 

nourishment.  Some  years  ago,  just  as  I  was  leaving  Cam 
bridge  to  discuss  at  New  Haven  the  dates  for  certain  games, 
a  misguided  enthusiast  chased  me  into  the  street  to  say, 
"We've  licked  'em;  and  you  can  get  any  date  you  want." 
Not  we,  but  events,  have  "licked"  intercollegiate  athletics. 
We,  —  that  is  to  say,  our  colleges,  —  acting  together,  may 
do  with  them  almost  as  we  please. 

"Acting  together,"  I  have  said,  not  in  every  detail,  but  in 
spirit.  If  we  fail  to  learn  from  the  wai>  if  the  great  moments 
of  the  great  world  paralyze  us,  and  we  do  nothing  with  the 
opportunities,  infinitely  smaller  yet  great  in  their  kind,  of 
the  college  athletic  world,  we  shall  join  the  crowded  ranks 
of  those  who,  whether  too  inert  to  act  or  too  blind  to  see, 
have  "lost  their  chance." 

What  is  our  chance?  Those  of  us  —  and  this  should 
mean  all  of  us  —  who  have  not  lost  the  interests  of  youth 
love  sport  for  sport's  sake,  and  victory  as  the  crown  of 
sport;  we  love  also  that  personified  ideal  which  is  intensely 
real,  the  college  which,  either  by  tradition  or  by  accident, 
has  become  our  Alma  Mater;  and  we  love  to  see  our  Alma 
Mater  upheld,  not  merely  as  an  institution  of  learning 
where  mature  scholars  may  prosecute  research,  but  as  a 
school  where  boys  become  men  through  all  things  that  fitly 
minister  to  then*  physical,  mental,  moral,  and  spiritual  life. 

Among  these  things  is  manly  sport,  which  at  college  finds 
its  supreme  expression  in  upholding  the  supremacy  of  the 
Alma  Mater.  In  the  right  kind  of  game  between  Yale  and 
Harvard,  for  example,  every  player  wears  his  college  colors 
much  as  a  knight  in  tourney  wore  the  colors  of  his  lady. 
This  high  and  simple  truth  has  been  put  out  of  sight,  — 
and  almost  out  of  life,  —  by  the  parasites  that  have  over 
grown  it.  "Our  chance"  is  to  keep  it  clear  in  the  eyes  and 
strong  in  the  hearts  of  our  students,  to  associate  athletics 
with  honor  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  with  honor  and 


ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR  81 

not  with  notoriety.  Against  us  are  the  quick  transiency  of 
college  generations,  the  lopsidedness  of  a  boy's  growth  to 
manhood,  the  more  vulgar  of  human  ambitions,  the  desire 
of  the  public  for  excitement,  and  what  Matthew  Arnold 
would  call  the  "  ignobleness  "  of  the  American  newspaper. 
All  these  hostile  forces  have  united  to  some  extent  in  our 
present  coaching  system,  even  when  that  system  is  intelli 
gent,  disciplinary,  and  in  divers  ways  morally  strong. 

The  important  attacks  on  intercollegiate  sport  have  come 
from  earnest  men  who  fail  to  see  its  meaning:  rightly  dis 
gusted  with  its  commercial  aspects,  feeling  little  sympathy 
with  athletics  except  for  health,  they  are  naturally  irrita 
ted  by  what  seems  to  them  a  colossal  substitution  of  sham 
for  reality,  prostituting  what  should  be  a  means  to  health 
by  making  it  an  end  in  itself,  and  an  end  that  defeats  the 
end  to  which  it  should  be  a  means,  by  endangering  rather 
than  ensuring  the  health  for  which  alone  it  exists.  Mean 
while,  they  allege,  it  robs  study,  scamps  the  performance  of 
daily  duty,  magnifies  physical  prowess,  nurses  luxury,  and 
is  at  best  only  an  intermittent  check  on  vice,  which  between 
periods  of  training  rides  triumphant.  -  The  very  thought  of 
thousands  who  squander  money  for  tickets  to  games,  the 
very  sight  of  thousands  who  find  games  of  absorbing  inter 
est  in  a  world  "so  full  of  a  number  of  things," bears  annoy 
ing  witness  to  the  mad  folly  of  the  American  public  and  to 
the  pusillanimous  irresponsibility  of  American  institutions 
of  learning  that  cater  to  this  folly.  Such  is  the  feeling  of 
those  to  whom  the  inner  light  of  intercollegiate  athletics 
burns  dim  at  best,  and  not  at  all  when  obscured  by  outward 
circumstances.  Moreover,  even  if  these  persons  are,  as  I 
believe  them  to  be,  in  great  part  wrong,  they  speak  some 
patent  truths  that  every  responsible  lover  of  his  college 
cannot  but  deplore. 

Met  one  by  one,  the  obstacles  that  I  have  named  seem 

7 


82  ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR 

surmountable.  Though  by  the  time  one  set  of  students  is 
half  educated,  it  gives  place  to  another,  this  is  no  more  the 
law  of  the  athletic  field  than  of  the  classroom.  In  the  class 
room  also  we  must  adapt  ourselves  to  the  lopsidedness  of  a 
boy's  development.  There  too  we  see,  if  we  have  eyes,  the 
meaner  and  the  more  vulgar  ambitions  in  their  aggressive 
campaign  for  mastery.  The  only  athletic  difficulties  not 
familiar  to  college  teachers  are  what  may  be  called  the 
public  difficulties,  the  difficulties  that  arise  from  the  ex 
ploiting  of  skill  and  personal  qualities,  until  football  stars 
have  as  little  privacy  as  stars  of  musical  comedy  or  the  film, 
with  whom  publicity  means  money  and  position.  Is  it 
strange  that  the  possibilities  of  publicity  in  money  and 
position  should  penetrate  the  minds  of  football  stars? 

The  chief  evils  of  athletic  publicity  are,  as  everybody 
knows,  extravagant  expenditures,  dishonest  proselyting, 
the  upsetting  of  relative  values,  and  the  kind  of  lionizing 
that  turns  the  heads  of  boys,  not  to  speak  of  those  girls 
with  whom  football  heroes  are  socially  superior  matinee 
idols.  Some  honorable  means  of  abolishing  or  greatly  de 
creasing  these  evils  must  be  found  if  intercollegiate  athletics 
are  to  be  a  thoroughly  wholesome  part  of  our  academic  life. 

A  pretty  good  case  may  be  argued  for  publicity.  In  place 
of  brawls  between  town  and  gown,  we  now  have  college 
feeling  spread  for  miles  about.  Boys  get  interested  in  the 
college  whose  teams  they  see,  and  aspire  to  attend  it.  Col 
lege  games  for  college  students  only  would  be  snobbish. 
College  games  are  good  recreation  for  any  spectator;  and 
spectators  are  harmless  and  lucrative.  Privacy  nobody  ex 
pects  in  these  days.  Any  girl  who  announces  her  engage 
ment  sees  her  photograph  in  the  public  prints ;  any  society 
girl  who  sells  cake  at  a  fair  for  charity  or  bathes  at  Palm 
Beach,  any  young  drummer  who  manages  the  floor  at  a 
lodge  dance,  may  read  all  about  it  (with  illustrations) .  Why 


ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR  85 

should  college  athletes,  who  do  skilfully  what  people  love  to 
see,  be  treated  with  a  delicate  consideration  which  few  of 
them  or  of  their  friends  would  appreciate? 

Moreover,  if  the  corporation  of  a  university  accepts  a 
gift  for  a  stadium  that  costs  three  times  the  amount  of  the 
gift,  and  expects  the  athletic  association  to  pay  two  or  three 
hundred  thousand  dollars  for  the  completion  of  the  sum, 
and  interest  on  every  dollar  of  the  principal  until  it  can  pay 
the  dollar,  the  athletic  association  is  obliged  to  get  money. 
It  must  get  money  also  for  keeping  in  condition  fields,  build 
ings,  and  boats,  and  for  supporting  crews  that  cost  much 
and  bring  in  nothing.  Given  a  building  like  the  Yale  Bowl, 
—  or  even  like  the  Harvard  Stadium,  —  with  nothing  to 
take  care  of  it,  the  athletic  association  cannot  rise  wholly 
superior  to  commercial  standards.  You  may  beg,  you  may 
tax  the  students,  and  blackmail  the  faculty,  in  support  of 
your  team;  or  you  may  charge  for  admission  and  sell  a  great 
many  tickets. 

The  responsibilities  of  structures  designed  for  from  five 
to  fifteen  times  as  many  spectators  as  there  are  men  in  the 
university,  are  varied  and  great.  You  cannot  live  a  cottage 
life  in  a  hotel.  Once  in  pursuit  of  money,  you  are  tempted 
by  all  the  devices  of  business.  It  pays  to  advertise;  it  pays 
to  pay  enough  for  securing  coaches  who  will  turn  out  teams 
that  people  will  pay  to  see.  Then,  as  militarism  makes  na 
tions  outbid  one  another  in  armament,  football  makes 
colleges  outbid  one  another  in  coaching,  until  the  various 
positions  on  the  gridiron  are  parceled  out  among  specialists 
in  football,  much  as  the  various  organs  of  the  body  are  par 
celed  out  among  specialists  in  medicine. 

Professor  Corwin  reminds  us  that  it  has  cost  two  or  three 
thousand  dollars  a  boy  to  put  an  eleven  on  the  field  for 
a  Yale-Harvard  game.  Even  so,  if  seventy-five  thousand 
tickets  are  sold  at  two  dollars  each,  the  game  is  good 


84  ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR 

business ;  and  at  a  Yale-Harvard  game,  the  spectator  sees 
more  for  two  dollars  than  he  usually  sees  at  the  theatre.  But 
whoever  is  in  New  Haven  on  the  eve  of  the  game  and  at 
tempts  to  calculate  roughly  the  total  amount  of  money 
spent  in  getting  to  the  game  and  living  near  it,  is  appalled, 
if  not  temporarily  sickened.  I  name  New  Haven  because 
the  Bowl  is  so  big;  obviously  the  responsibility  is  no  more 
Yale's  than  Harvard's.  All  the  evils  of  publicity  feed  one 
another.  The  crowd  needs  the  Bowl,  and  the  Bowl  needs 
the  crowd.  Notoriety  brings  good  gate-receipts,  and  gate- 
receipts  bring  notoriety.  Notoriety  also  begets  proselyting, 
open  or  disguised.  Reputable  alumni  of  colleges  often  half 
deceive  themselves  when,  by  free  tuition  and  pleasant  per 
quisites,  they  persuade  a  schoolboy  to  honor  their  Alma 
Mater  among  all  the  venerable  suitors  for  his  athletic  hand ; 
nor  is  it  easy  for  a  poor  and  ambitious  boy  to  put  Satan 
behind  him,  when  Satan  assumes  the  guise  of  a  reputable 
alumnus  paying  tribute  of  flattery  and  of  money  to  his  skill. 
Finally,  some  students  get  better  discipline  and  more 
education  from  athletics  than  from  any  other  academic  ex 
perience,  thus  furnishing  a  new  argument  for  our  methods 
in  football,  baseball,  and  rowing.  On  this  singular  reversal 
of  propriety,  the  coach's  natural  comment  is, "  Brace  up  the 
Faculty,  or  I  shall  continue  to  do  what  it  can't."  No  doubt 
the  Faculty  needs  bracing;  but,  as  the  late  Professor  Royce 
remarked,  "When  the  band  is  playing  for  a  procession  to  the 
last  open  practice,  it  is  difficult  to  interest  Freshmen  in  the 
syllogism."  The  fault  is  not  wholly  the  Faculty's;  still  less 
is  it  the  boys'.  All  of  us  —  Faculty,  alumni,  and  American 
public  —  had  nourished  a  young  giant  until  he  made  a 
grown  giant's  demands.  Now  he  has  suddenly  shrunk;  and 
nobody  believes  in  overfeeding  him  again.  Not  merely  the 
Faculty,  but  the  great  body  of  serious  undergraduates,  — 
even  the  athletes  themselves,  with  their  new  light  on  rela- 


ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR  85 

live  values,  —  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  things  should 
never  again  be  as  they  have  been. 

Relative  values  may  easily  be  upset.  One  false  start  in 
one  large  college  may  knock  over  our  new  and  unsteady 
structure  like  a  house  of  cards.  No  captain  with  money  in 
the  treasury  likes  to  accept  the  danger  of  defeat;  expert 
help  is  scarce,  and,  according  to  the  law  of  demand  and 
supply,  no  coach  of  the  first  rank  is  paid  too  much.  "  It  is  a 
crucial  season.  Can't  we  have  X.  Y.  for  just  this  year?" 
Here  begins  anew  the  coaching  system.  Or, "  The  men  can 
not  find  room  together  at  the  big  dining-halls ;  and  some  of 
them  are  irregular  in  their  meals.  Can't  we  have  an  eating- 
place  where  we  can  all  meet?"  Here  revives  the  training- 
table. 

It  is  easy  to  reduce  income  and  thus  to  find  a  ready  reply 
to  such  petitions.  Whether  we  get  an  income  from  admis 
sion  tickets  or  from  solicited  subscriptions,  we  can  readily 
cut  it  down;  but  whether  or  not  we  cut  down  our  income, 
we  can  and  should  cut  down  our  expenses.  We  at  Harvard, 
who  have  probably  been  among  the  worst  offenders,  have 
in  late  years  checked  the  lavish  and  foolish  multiplication 
of  gift  sweaters  at  the  close  of  the  season,  and  have  been 
less  unthrifty  in  certain  other  matters.  Yet  in  preparing 
teams  and  crews  we  have  spent  money  like  water. 

In  reconstruction,  the  first  obvious  reform  is  the  aboli 
tion  of  the  training- table.  In  some  colleges  it  was  abolished 
years  ago,  with  no  obvious  loss  of  success  and  with  much 
saving  of  money.  It  used  to  be  maintained,  first  as  a  means 
of  furnishing  suitable  diet  to  men  in  training,  next,  as  a 
stimulant  to  esprit  de  corps.  Men  play  concertedly,  it  was 
argued,  if  they  eat  concertedly,  if  at  table  they  become 
intimate  with  each  other's  ways  of  talking  and  thinking. 
The  interpsychological  communion  thus  established  seems 
too  carnal  to  amount  to  much.  It  is  probably  worth  some- 


86  ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR 

thing;  yet  not  thinking  of  the  great  ordeal  every  minute, 
not  taking  your  shop  to  all  your  meals,  is  also  worth  some 
thing;  and  as  for  food,  the  evidence,  I  understand,  is  in 
favor  of  a  more  natural  diet,  a  diet  more  like  other  men's 
than  that  of  the  old  training-table. 

After  the  manner  of  the  proposed  League  to  Enforce 
Peace,  rival  colleges  must  agree  to  limit  the  cost  of  coach 
ing,  must  stick  to  the  agreement,  and  must  not  annually 
suspect  their  rivals  of  not  sticking  to  it.  Reduction  in  cost 
would  probably  mean  reduction  to  one  coach  for  each  of  the 
major  sports,  perhaps  to  one  coach  for  baseball  and  foot 
ball.  Some  persons  favor  strictly  amateur  coaching.  Theo 
retically  we  all  favor  it,  just  as,  theoretically,  we  all  favor 
peace;  practically,  you  get  better  results  with  a  coach  who, 
being  paid  for  certain  work,  performs  it,  and,  being  responsi 
ble  to  certain  persons,  is  ultimately  controlled  by  them. 
Few  suitable  amateurs  have  both  the  means  and  the  time. 
There  is  no  objection  to  a  professional  as  such,  if  he  is  a 
clean  professional  and  knows  his  profession;  there  are  many 
objections  to  transient  amateurs,  who,  doing  the  college 
a  favor,  feel  responsible  to  nobody;  who  may  be  tempted 
under  "expenses  paid"  to  all  kinds  of  graft;  who  may  en 
tertain  their  friends,  mentionable  and  unmentionable,  at 
hotels,  and  send  unanalyzable  bills  to  the  athletic  associa 
tion.  Year  in  and  year  out,  the  amateur  who  has  his  ex 
penses  paid  is  more  demoralizing  than  the  professional 
responsible  to  his  employers  and  to  his  job.  The  right  kind 
of  amateur  with  leisure  is  the  best  coach  of  all,  and  may 
from  time  to  time  be  found  in  any  one  sport  at  any  one  col 
lege;  but  the  right  kind  of  amateur  —  the  right  kind  of  any 
thing  —  is  rarely  a  man  of  leisure;  and  careful  direction  of 
athletic  sport  takes  time. 

It  is  a  sort  of  purple  dream  with  some  enthusiasts  that  a 
director  of  athletics  belongs  in  the  Faculty.   I  am  one  of 


ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR  87 

these  purple  dreamers.  In  the  West  we  should  not  be 
dreamers  at  all;  for  the  dream  has  become  a  reality.  So  it 
has  here  and  there  in  the  East;  but  elsewhere  in  the  East 
the  suggestion  of  it  is  derided.  No  first-rate  man,  we  are 
told,  would  go  into  such  a  business  as  coaching  for  an  in 
definite  period ;  nobody  in  the  Faculty  would  regard  a  coach 
as  belonging  there.  Getting  used  to  the  idea  may  take  time ; 
but  there  are  men,  potential  coaches,  who  might  expedite 
the  process;  and  there  are  other  men,  potential  Faculties,  to 
whom  the  doctrine  that  mind  and  body  should  be  trained 
together,  each  helping  the  other,  is  neither  startling  nor 
novel.  These  men  understand  that  no  minister  and  no  dean 
begins  to  have  the  opportunity  of  the  coach  in  the  higher 
education  for  life,  if  not  for  learning;  and  they  can  at  least 
conceive  of  an  educated  man,  preferably  with  medical  train 
ing,  whose  interest  in  youth  and  in  those  things  to  which 
spirited  youth  responds  most  eagerly  will  never  die  till  he 
himself  shall  die;  of  a  man  who  sees  in  the  position  of  ath 
letic  director  an  opportunity,  constant  and  far-reaching,  a 
career  of  absorbing  responsibility  and  fascinating  hard 
work. 

Such  a  conceivable  man  in  such  a  conceivable  Faculty 
will  be  a  professional  in  the  sense  in  which  other  professors 
are  professional.  He  will  be  an  educated  man,  working  for 
money  and  for  something  better  than  money,  at  an  institu 
tion  of  enlightened  learning.  He  will  not  pit  athletics 
against  study  or  students  against  Faculty.  For  some  de 
tailed  work  he  will  hire  subordinates,  responsible  to  him 
and  through  him  to  the  Faculty.  If  he  is  regarded  as  so 
cially  inferior,  he  will  bide  his  time  until  all  sensible  persons 
see  that  he  is  not,  and  that  there  is  no  sufficient  reason  why 
he  should  be. 

This  idea,  as  I  have  said,  is  not  original  or  even  new;  it  is 
newer  in  the  East  than  in  the  West.  Eventually  something 


88  ATHLETICS  AND  THE  WAR 

like  it  will  come  to  stay.  A  position  of  incomparable  in 
fluence,  a  position  that  it  is  a  high  honor  to  fill,  will  not  re 
main  inferior  in  everything  but  salary.  It  waits  only  for  the 
right  man  and  for  that  recognition  from  the  higher  powers 
which  is  the  first  step  toward  getting  him. 

Again,  this  war  should  teach  us  to  stop  petty  bickerings 
and  to  treat  each  other  as  honest  gentlemen.  Colleges 
whose  boys  fight  side  by  side  for  the  mightiest  cause  that 
ever  shook  the  world,  can  we  live  again  in  constant  fear 
that  someone  will  take  advantage  of  us  in  a  game  unless  we 
take  advantage  of  him  first?  When  we  play  again,  can  we 
afford  to  begin  except  as  friend  and  friend,  as  host  and 
guest? 

As  to  students  —  let  us  not  forget  that,  after  two  or  three 
years  of  a  certain  policy,  they  will  gravely  tell  their  elders 
that  "it  has  always  been  so."  Alumni  are  harder  to  con 
vince,  some  even  objecting  to  pleasant  social  relations  be 
tween  rival  teams  before  a  game  as  what  never  would  have 
been  tolerated  in  their  day,  in  the  golden  era  of  bad  feeling. 
Newspapers  may  be  incorrigible;  but  reporters  are  human, 
and  nearly  always  respond  to  frankness  and  courtesy.  Col 
lege  teams  will  not  play  so  finished  a  game  as  they  played 
once;  admission  fees  may  be  reduced  for  the  public,  possibly 
abolished  for  the  students;  but,  with  the  world  at  peace,  the 
time  will  never  come  when  a  game  between  such  rivals  as 
Yale  and  Princeton,  or  Yale  and  Harvard,  or  Princeton  and 
Harvard,  will  not  warm  the  blood  of  any  graduate  who  has 
not  quite  forgotten  what  it  was  to  be  young. 

Intercollegiate  athletics  are  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
problem  that  confronts  America,  and  by  the  same  tremen 
dous  force,  the  war  for  the  mastery  or  the  liberation  of  the 
world.  Like  America,  they  will  stand  or  fall  according  as 
they  choose  between  luxury  and  simplicity,  trickery  and 
integrity,  the  senses  and  the  spirit. 


SOME  BLANK  MISGIVINGS 

GEORGE    BOAS 

I  AM  sitting  in  Carruthers  Hall  giving  an  examination  in 
Elementary  English  Composition.  To  be  sure,  I  have  no 
business  here,  for  this  is  a  university  which  enjoys  the 
Honor  System.  These  young  Americans  before  me  are  dis 
tinguished  from  almost  all  others:  they  are  allowed  to  use 
their  sense  of  right  and  wrong;  they  punish  their  own  offend 
ers.  The  force  of  public  opinion  is  enough  to  prevent  cheat 
ing.  And  yet  I  am  here.  It  is  suggested  by  my  superiors 
that  my  help  may  be  wanted. 

And  so  here  I  come  at  nine  o'clock,  and  here  I  sit  behind 
the  desk  on  the  raised  platform.  It  is  fortunate  that  it  is 
raised,  one  can  see  appeals  for  aid  so  much  more  easily.  My 
knowledge  that  I  must  lend  a  helping  hand  prevents  my 
concentrating  on  this  very  delightful  volume  of  Propertius, 
which  I  have  brought  along  to  make  my  altruism  seem  less 
aggressive.  My  presence  must  not  be  misinterpreted.  It 
would  never  do  to  let  the  students  think  that  I  am  watching 
them. 

What  a  mass  of  ritual  for  something  so  simple!  I  some 
times  think  that  it  was  the  ritual  which  attracted  me  to 
this  dismal  profession.  To  ascend  a  platform  every  day,  to 
lecture,  to  see  one's  words  being  eagerly  copied  into  note 
books,  to  be  applauded  at  the  end  of  the  semester,  to  be 
called  "  Professor,"  all  these  are  signs  of  majesty.  And  then, 
to  make  out  examinations  by  whose  results  a  boy's  life  may 
be  determined:  this  surely  is  a  Nietzschean  existence.  Here 
is  one's  opportunity  to  exercise  one's  Will  to  Power. 

Before  me  sit  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  who  have  taken 


90  SOME  BLANK  MISGIVINGS 

my  course  for  a  year.  They  are  now  trying  to  answer 
questions  in  such  a  way  as  to  show  me  that  they  know 
more  than  I  think  they  do.  Some  of  them  will  surprise  me, 
and  I  shall  know  that  my  questions  were  ill-chosen.  Most 
of  them  will  live  up  to  my  expectations,  however,  and  as  I 
plod  through  their  books,  I  shall  see  my  early  predictions 
verified. 

Hopkins  will  return  to  me  my  every  thought,  phrased  in 
my  most  individual  manner;  he  will  stand  forth  as  a  man 
whose  generous  mind  disdains  a  failure  to  agree  with  an 
authority.  Clarkson  will  jumble  "clearness  "  with  "empha 
sis/*  "coherence"  with  "unity,"  and  write  page  after  page 
in  self-exposure.  Mason  will  denounce  everything  he  has 
heard  this  term  as  so  much  rubbish,  and  rage  violently 
against  all  instruction.  I  sympathize  with  Mason.  Smith 
will  misinterpret  each  question  and  weep  over  my  unfair 
ness  in  flunking  him.  Lyons  will  write  calmly  and  quietly  a 
book  of  sense,  not  brilliant,  not  original,  but  honest  and 
correct.  Wheelwright  will  have  a  great  deal  of  brilliance 
and  very  little  correctness.  And  so  it  goes.  Before  one  of 
the  three  hours  is  up,  Wilson  will  slap  his  papers  together, 
briskly  throw  them  on  my  desk,  wish  me  a  happy  vacation, 
and  stride  out  swinging  his  hat.  He  too  will  wonder  at  my 
unfairness  in  a  week  or  two. 

There  is  Baker  in  the  back  row  showing  distress  signals. 
Baker  is  an  excellent  mining  engineer,  but,  curiously 
enough,  he  can  never  tell  whether  and  how  an  essay  achieves 
the  indispensable  quality  of  unity.  This  is  indeed  unfortu 
nate,  for  when  Baker's  shaft  at  Motion,  Arizona,  caves  in, 
he  will  bitterly  regret  that  a  knowledge  of  the  one  thing 
that  might  have  saved  him  is  forever  a  sealed  book.  True, 
Baker  may  never  attain  a  mine.  Not  if  a  degree  is  a  pre 
requisite.  For  he  has  no  chance  whatsoever  of  passing  his 
English,  and  passing  his  English  is  a  prerequisite  to  a 
degree. 


SOME  BLANK  MISGIVINGS  91 

For  all  his  stupidity,  I  saw  Baker  on  the  hills  one  day, 
flat  on  his  belly,  tickling  a  little  blue  lizard  with  a  blade  of 
dry  grass.  Out  of  his  pocket  was  sticking  a  corner  of  "The 
Golden  Age."  His  is  no  simple  soul.  But  it  has  no  room  for 
English  I.  And  now  he  sits  with  wrinkled  forehead  over  an 
examination  that  is  totally  unintelligible.  God  grant  him  a 
sight  of  his  neighbor's  book! 

Baker  is  typical  of  so  many  of  these  students.  Plucked 
out  of  the  river  of  events  in  the  full  flush  of  their  youth, 
from  mountain  villages,  from  prairie  ranches,  from  orange 
groves,  from  wheatfields,  they  have  been  set  down  in  a 
community  whose  one  purpose  is  said  to  be  "the  intellect 
ual  life."  It  has  been  done  with  full  confidence  in  the  im 
plied  theory  of  values.  My  colleagues  and  I  are  sure  that 
"the  intellectual  life"  is  the  best  life,  and  that  its  suprem 
acy  ought  to  be  realized  by  all.  We  have  no  misgivings 
about  refusing  our  approval  to  him  who  tickles  blue  lizards 
but  knows  not  rhetoric.  For  we  say  that  we  are  teaching 
him  "how  to  think."  Of  course  we  are  committed  to  this 
programme.  The  world  has  learned  how  to  think  for  many 
centuries  in  just  this  way.  We  cannot  "fly  in  the  face  of 
tradition."  For  me  to  hazard  the  remark  that  mining  en 
gineering  involves  as  much  thought  as  English  composition 
would  be  treachery  to  my  chosen  task.  And  yet  this  new 
and  unwearied  country  might  have  been  given  the  chance 
to  develop  its  own  tradition. 

There  is  Roberts  over  in  the  corner.  He  will  industriously 
answer  my  ten  questions  and  consume  three  hours  in  doing 
it.  His  book  will  be  clear,  complete,  sensible,  and  dull. 
Roberts  is  one  of  these  people  who  will  be  called  "schol 
arly."  He  will  go  to  Harvard  for  graduate  work,  and  will 
agree  with  Corssen  that  Virgil's  name  derives  from  vergiliK, 
"a  name  for  the  Pleiades  as  rising  at  the  end  of  spring 
(vergo),"  and  is  not  Gallic  in  origin.  He  will  write  treatises 


92  SOME  BLANK  MISGIVINGS 

on  "Some  Disputed  Points  in  Milton's  pre-Hortonian 
Poems."  He  will  then  acquire  a  reputation  as  an  authority 
on  "the  young  Milton."  When  he  is  forty-five,  the  Modern 
Language  Association  will  publish  his  paper  on  "Analogues 
of  the  Vision  on  the  Guarded  Mount  in  Celtic  Folk  Ballads." 
At  sixty  he  will  startle  the  world  by  his  magnum  opus,  "A 
Comparison  of  the  Hells  of  Milton  and  of  Dante,"  and  will 
die.  Already  he  knows  things  quce  vix  intelligat  ipse  Modes- 
tus.  He  loves  to  talk  about  words  and,  though  only  a  Fresh 
man,  has  written  a  sonnet  to  M.  Valerius  Probus,  who  in 
troduced  the  asterisk  into  western  Europe. 

Not  an  unaccomplished  person  is  Roberts.  But  dull, 
hopelessly  dull.  Why  is  he  here?  He  knows  all  this  stuff 
and  despises  me  for  teaching  it.  Day  after  day  he  has  sat 
before  me  with  cold  eyes,  wondering  how  I  could  be  so 
childish  as  to  talk  about  unity,  coherence,  and  emphasis. 
He  does  not  openly  rebel.  He  has  not  the  originality.  He 
simply  looks  uninterested.  If  he  is  forced  to  study  English 
I,  he  will.  But,  mark  you,  he  will  not  be  a  partner  in  the 
crime. 

That  man  will  be  a  credit  to  his  college.  The  Department 
of  English  will  send  him  to  Harvard  with  personal  letters  to 
the  Great.  And  when  he  shall  have  died,  the  world  will  be 
neither  richer,  nobler,  nor  wiser  for  his  having  been  in  it. 
I  have  never  seen  Roberts  tickle  a  blue  lizard.  But  he  does 
know  how  to  think. 

I  cannot  see  that  we  teach  these  people  anything.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  some  of  them  are  getting  better  marks  now 
than  they  did  at  the  beginning  of  the  year.  But  that  may 
be  because  I  am  more  tired.  Most  of  them  end  as  they  be 
gan,  bad,  mediocre,  or  good.  They  were  born  that  way  and 
they  will  die  that  way.  And  my  task  has  been,  as  I  see  it 
now,  simply  to  give  them  a  chance  to  exercise  their  native 
talent. 


THE  CALUMNIATED   COLLEGIAN 

MARY    LEAL   HARKNESS 

"  EDUCATION  formerly  meant  an  ability  to  write  polished 
Latin  verse,  to  think  in  terms  incomprehensible  to  the  mob, 
and  to  feel  a  proper  disdain  for  all  things  material;  to-day 
it  is  being  given  the  meaning  of  an  ability  to  take  one's  part 
in  industry,  in  business,  and  in  the  operation  of  the  farm. 

"The  best-educated  man  of  yesterday  was  the  most  help 
less,  where  business  was  concerned.  He  knew  much  about 
the  personal  habits  of  the  trilobite,  could  give  accurate  in 
formation  concerning  the  sources  of  the  drama  and  poetry 
of  the  ancient  Greeks.  .  .  .  But  he  knew  less  than  nothing 
of  making  and  selling  things,  while  his  knowledge  of  the 
farm  came  of  memorized  bits  of  pastoral  and  rustic  poetry." 

As  I  read  the  illuminating  and  veracious  newspaper  arti 
cle  whose  opening  paragraphs  were  adorned  with  the  above 
choice  statements  of  educational  truth,  I  regretted  that  this 
valuable  contributor  to  journalistic  literature  and  public  in 
formation  could  not  also  behold  the  mental  picture  which 
the  closing  quotation  especially  brought  before  my  own 
vision. 

One  summer  day  the  grocer's  delivery  horse  balked  in 
front  of  our  house.  Of  all  obstreperous  quadrupeds,  he  was 
the  very  balkiest  horse  that  I  ever  saw.  The  delivery  boy 
swore  and  wept,  he  petted  and  patted,  he  lashed  and  pulled, 
he  exhausted  every  device  known  to  delivery  boys,  and  the 
beast  moved  not.  A  crowd  assembled,  —  the  sort  of  crowd 
which  such  an  attraction  always  draws,  "practical"  men 
and  boys  all,  —  and,  I  '11  dare  be  sworn,  not  a  user  of  gram 
mar  pure  and  undcfiled  in  the  whole  collection.  And  they 


94  THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN 

told  all  they  knew  about  balky  horses,  and  did  all  they 
knew,  as  well;  but  the  horse  remained  unmoved.  Then  the 
college  professor  of  our  family,  a  Latin  professor,  as  it 
chanced,  and  of  the  vintage  which  our  valued  writer  on 
education  would  probably  term  "of  yesterday,"  looked  out 
of  his  library  window  and  contemplated  the  situation.  But 
not  for  long.  He  rose  without  remark,  sought  his  carriage 
house,  procured  a  rope,  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the 
street,  spoke  gently  to  the  grocer's  boy  and  his  steed,  at 
tached  the  rope  at  the  points  where  it  would  do  the  most 
good  —  and  the  animal  proceeded  down  the  street.  There 
was  some  surprised  and  admiring  comment  from  the  by 
standers,  I  remember,  to  which  the  professor  made  not 
much  response.  It  is  barely  possible  that  this  brilliant 
exhibition  of  what  is  supposed  to  typify  "efficiency"  was 
the  product  of  "memorized  bits  of  pastoral  and  rustic 
poetry";  but  the  only  explanation  he  vouchsafed  to  his 
family  was:  "I  learned  that  trick  when  I  was  a  boy  on  Jim 
Henderson's  farm.  He  used  to  keep  the  meanest  horses 
that  ever  grew." 

If  the  sort  of  stuff  which  I  have  quoted  as  a  prelude  to 
my  prospective  remarks  were  the  only  specimen  of  it  that 
I  had  ever  read  or  heard,  or  if  the  family  incident  just  re 
lated  were  the  only  evidence  that  could  be  offered  of  its 
preposterous  absurdity,  the  prospective  remarks  could 
hardly  be  worth  the  making.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  that 
sort  of  stuff  is  being  written  and  said  a  great  deal,  and  the 
multitude  seems  blind  to  the  numerous  facts  that  flatly 
contradict  such  declarations  of  the  failure  of  the  college- 
bred  to  "connect  with"  what  certain  modern  thinkers  are 
pleased  to  term  "life." 

The  article  in  question  was  written  as  a  preliminary  to  a 
rather  important  educational  conference,  which  I  myself 
attended.  From  this  outline  of  its  purpose  and  general 


THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN  95 

tendency  one  might  have  supposed  the  sole  purpose  of  the 
conference  to  be  the  inauguration  of  a  grand  movement  for 
the  uplift  and  culture  of  rural  communities  through  a  gen 
eral  policy,  which  the  following  sentence  fairly  well  typi 
fies:  "They  will,  also,  have  pig  and  social  clubs." 

A  week  later  I  attended  another  educational  meeting  at 
which  the  highest  educational  official  in  his  state  proclaimed 
in  a  long  speech  the  gospel  of  "More  corn  roots  and  no 
Latin  roots,"  and  "Down  with  higher  mathematics,"  with 
all  else  that  leads  to  college,  but  "does  not  prepare  for  prac 
tical  life."  At  both  these  meetings  there  were  earnest,  and 
and  not  a  few,  groups  of  men  and  women  engaged  in  the 
discussion  of  the  advancement  of  higher  education  and  the 
promotion  of  honest  educational  standards  and  ideals;  but 
their  meetings  were  accorded  a  brief  space  in  obscure  nooks 
in  the  daily  papers,  while  the  exponents  of  "pig  and  social 
clubs  "  shared  the  front  pages  with  Mexico,  and  the  pictured 
faces  of  organizers  of  tomato  clubs  beamed  from  every 
local  journal.  And  a  prominent  paper,  commenting  editor 
ially  and  approvingly  upon  one  man's  suggestion  "to  limit 
mathematics  in  the  public  schools  to  what  the  farmers, 
bankers,  and  others  in  commercial  life  need  in  their  or 
dinary  business,"  and  to  "throw  the  rest  overboard,  and 
have  the  children  taught  the  three  thousand  or  four  thou 
sand  ordinary  words  they  are  likely  to  use,"  and  to  have 
"the  fifteen  thousand  others  more  or  less  technical  cast 
into  the  junk  heap,"  said  of  such  suggestions  that  "they 
ought  to  have,  and  we  believe  will  have,  universal  ap 
proval." 

Again,  in  one  of  the  most  highly  esteemed  of  the  maga 
zines  to  which  I  subscribe,  I  found  an  editorial  in  praise  of 
the  new  style  of  college  commencement  adopted  in  a  north 
western  state,  at  which,  with  appropriate  "scientific"  com 
ment,  a  young  woman  in  a  becoming  big  apron  did  a  family 


96  THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN 

washing,  a  youth  in  butcher's  raiment  cut  up  a  dead  sheep, 
and  a  future  broncho-buster  gave  an  exhibition  of  colt- 
breaking  —  all  on  the  commencement  stage,  to  the  im 
mense  delight  of  an  audience  assembled  in  apprehension  of 
some  hours  of  exposition  of  baccalaureate  plans  for  the 
regeneration  of  humanity.  The  editorial  eulogy  of  the 
innovation  closed  as  follows:  "It  is  always  interesting  to 
listen  to  a  person  who  knows  what  he  is  talking  about, 
whatever  that  may  be;  but  the  number  of  people  who  can 
talk  well  on  what  they  do  not  know  is  naturally  limited." 

Is  it  always  interesting  to  listen  to  a  person  who  knows 
what  he  is  talking  about?  If  that  editor  really  imagines  so, 
he  evidently  has  never  listened  to  an  uninterrupted  ninety- 
minute  description  of  how  a  notable  housekeeper  makes 
strawberry  preserves.  And  I  would  defy  any  human  being 
to  prove  that  she  does  not  know  what  she  is  talking  about, 
for  I  have  tested  her  preserves  too  often.  But  her  recital  of 
her  methods  does  not  inspire  an  appetite  for  more. 

Among  the  oft-quoted  adages  is  one  that  there  cannot  be 
so  much  smoke  without  some  fire.  But  I  have  had  occasion 
in  my  life  to  observe  the  fallibility  of  proverbs.  And  all  of 
us  have  seen,  if  I  mistake  not,  dense  clouds  of  moral  smoke 
where  there  was  no  real  fire  at  all;  or,  if  there  was,  it  did 
not  originate  from  the  victim's  own  chimney. 

So  it  is  my  opinion  that  the  murky  fumes  now  obscuring 
from  clear  view  the  real  work  of  the  college  and  collegian 
rise  from  no  fire  of  collegiate  kindling.  Less  metaphorically, 
I  do  not  believe  that  it  is  from  any  real  failure  of  the  college 
or  its  product  to  make  good,  that  the  present  attack  upon  it 
has  arisen.  It  is  rather  the  instinctive  desire  of  a  multitude 
of  half -educated  men  and  women  to  justify  their  own  un 
lettered  state  by  proclaiming  a  new  cultural  salvation, 
easily  attained  and  "just  as  good"  as  the  old  kind  that 
came  with  tears  and  midnight  oil.  Their  mode  of  proving 


THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN  97 

it  just  as  good  and  a  good  deal  better,  is  to  select  a  few 
cases  of  failures  in  life,  group  them  advantageously  for 
public  view,  and  announce,  "  College  education  did  this." 
I  heard  an  enthusiastic  propagator  of  the  "new  education" 
for  women  distinctly  charge  it  to  the  college  women  of  her 
state  that  there  were  hundreds  and  even  thousands  of  un 
happy  women  in  the  city  of  Atlanta  who  did  not  know  how 
to  sweep  a  floor  properly. 

"You  college  women  are  neglecting  the  vital  things  of 
life,  my  dears,"  she  said,  in  an  affecting  peroration.  And 
from  recent  reading  of  the  daily  papers  I  cull  two  flowers  of 
thought,  one  from  an  educator  of  some  prominence,  the 
other  from  a  trashy  story  running  serially  on  the  "Women 
and  Society  "  page.  The  educator,  speaking  on  vocational 
training,  "showed  by  figures  and  several  illustrations  that 
there  are  many  whose  life-work  is  not  in  harmony  with 
their  talents,"  according  to  the  newspaper's  report.  "  There 
is  no  higher  work,  the  speaker  said,  than  to  lead  a  child  into 
those  fields  of  activities  which  will  make  satisfied  men  and 
women.  He  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  focusing  of  attention 
by  schools  on  the  professions  is  doing  great  harm  to  the 
country." 

The  speakers  in  the  second  extract  are  two  disillusioned 
female  college  graduates. 

"'It  often  seems  to  me,'  said  Marian  reflectively,  'that 
going  to  college  unfits  a  girl  for  contact  with  the  real  world 
more  than  anything  else  could  possibly  do.  A  college  cam 
pus  has  a  way  of  building  ideals  that  are  almost  certain  to 
get  knocked  into  a  cocked  hat.' 

"  *I  agree  with  you,' sighed  Miss  Barton;  'the  bumps  that 
come  after  a  girl's  graduation  hurt  all  the  more  because 
college  has  made  her  a  highly  sensitive  being.  .  .  .  Be 
lieve  me,  the  truly  happy  and  contented  people  are  the 
lowbrows  and  the  roughnecks,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  use 
two  very  expressive  terms/  ' 


98  THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN 

I  should  apologize  for  seeming  to  take  seriously  this  bit  of 
profound  philosophy  if  it  did  not  fairly  represent  much 
that  is  constantly  appearing,  expressed  with  hardly  less 
crudeness,  in  far  more  aristocratic  literary  environment. 
Many  of  the  mishaps  of  this  story's  peculiarly  idiotic 
heroine  are  traced  to  the  fact  that  "she  left  college  with  no 
training  to  do  any  particular  work  ";  and  the  thing  is  signifi 
cant  from  just  this:  that  the  author  tosses  the  statement 
off  glibly  from  time  to  time  for  a  truth  accepted  as  proved 
by  modern  society. 

It  would  be  possible,  I  dare  say,  to  brand  the  statement 
not  proved  by  the  popular  statistical  method  —  that  is,  by 
tabulated  lists  of  male  college  graduates  who  have  become 
presidents  of  the  United  States  and  others  in  authority, 
and  of  female  college  graduates  who  have  achieved  an 
average  of  over  two  and  a  half  children  each.  But  that 
method  does  not  appeal  to  me,  because  I  consider  the  truth 
thus  vindicated,  however  indubitable,  about  the  least  im 
portant  argument  in  the  case  for  the  college. 

I  am  inclined,  rather,  to  hark  back  to  the  words  of  a  cer 
tain  Augustan  poet,  whose  cheerful  wisdom  and  plain,  hard 
sense  make  it  seem  to  me  a  thousand  pities  that  all  the 
tomato-canners  and  pig-club  officials  should  go  down  to 
old  age  in  total  innocence  of  his  philosophy  and  even  of  his 
existence.  For  I  am  sure  that  they,  and  their  immediate 
educational  advisers  as  well,  if  they  knew  a  few  of  the 
things  he  said  and  did,  and  if  they  did  not  know  that  they 
were  said  in  Latin  and  done  in  Rome  or  thereabouts,  would 
class  him  among  the  "efficient."  (Although  it  might  per 
haps  disagree  with  them  to  discover  that  he  animadverted 
severely  upon  the  teaching  of  mathematics  in  Roman 
schools,  merely  to  supply  "what  the  farmers,  bankers,  and 
others  in  commercial  life  need  in  their  ordinary  business"; 
for  when  once  "this  gangrene  of  care  for  money  "  has  eaten 


THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN  99 

into  the  soul,  he  said,  how  can  we  expect  great  literature, 
and  its  natural  accompaniment,  great  ideals  of  citizenship, 
ever  to  find  birth  there?)  But,  although  about  as  hard- 
headed  and  practical  as  a  poet  ever  gets  to  be,  he  wrote 
these  words,  which  I  suspect  that  it  does  take  something 
rather  beyond  the  pig-club  intelligence  to  recognize  as  prac 
ticality  in  its  essence :  — 

"You  see  with  what  effort  of  mind  and  soul  you  strive  to 
avoid  what  you  believe  to  be  the  greatest  evils,  a  small  for 
tune  and  humiliating  defeat  at  the  polls.  Will  you  not  learn 
from  and  listen  to  and  believe  a  wiser  teacher,  so  that  you 
will  not  care  for  the  things  which  you  foolishly  admire  and 
wish  for?  " 

The  college  seems  to  me  to-day's  "wiser  teacher";  not 
an  agency  to  train  undeveloped  boys  and  girls  for  some 
particular  money-making  vocation  before  they  yet  know 
their  own  tastes  or  powers,  but  to  give  them  a  sufficient 
apprehension  of  life's  true  values  to  judge  fairly  what 
things  are  perhaps  worth  the  bruises  and  weariness  of  pur 
suit  "over  seas,  over  rocks,  and  through  fire."  Even  if  it 
were  true  that  college  graduates  are  not  making  money, 
moving  great  enterprises,  —  "doing  things,"  in  short,  —  it 
would  still  be  true  that  they  have  the  best  equipment  for 
the  many-sidedness  of  real  life  which  the  world  has  yet 
learned  to  compress  into  the  few  early  years  allotted  to 
schoolroom  preparation  for  living.  It  is  absurd  to  expect 
full  preparation  for  any  of  its  walks  or  vicissitudes  from 
those  few  years,  however  spent;  but  those  who  have  spent 
them  in  college  contain  the  smallest  proportion  "whose 
life-work  is  not  in  harmony  with  their  talents,"  and  they 
come  nearer  than  any  others  to  holding  the  specific  for  be 
ing  "truly  happy  and  contented  people." 

In  the  last  analysis  the  whole  question  comes  down  to 
this:  What  do  we  mean  when  we  talk  about  "life"  and 


100  THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN 

about  things  that  are  "vital"?  It  appears  that  perhaps 
those  who  sling  these  terms  with  the  greatest  freedom  and 
frequency  disagree  with  me  entirely  as  to  their  meaning. 
It  is  then  a  not  unimportant  matter  to  decide  whether  the 
thing  that  is  vital  to  you  is  your  stewed  —  or  stuffed,  or  es- 
calloped  —  tomato,  or  your  state  of  mind,  which  stays  with 
you  a  good  deal  longer  than  the  tomato  stays  on  your  plate 
or  the  memory  of  its  flavor  stays  in  your  grateful  soul  — 
even  if  you  fletcherize.  In  short,  is  the  only  vital  thing  to 
you  the  making  and  possession  of  some  things  that  you  can 
eat  up,  and  wear  out,  and  smash? 

I  know  that  eloquent  and  impassioned  articles  have  been 
written  to  prove  that  the  whole  happiness  of  mankind  is 
balanced  upon  the  delicate  fulcrum  of  digestion;  that  one 
lurking  disease-germ  in  a  carpet  that  knows  not  the  vac 
uum  cleaner  can  destroy  whole  cities  —  and  who  denies  it? 
But  can  anyone  with  brains  in  his  head,  and  even  a  rudi 
mentary  tendency  toward  fair-mindedness,  deny  also  that 
it  is  possible  for  life  to  be  perfectly  miserable  to  many  a 
consumer  of  a  scientifically  chosen  and  cooked  dinner,  eaten 
with  feet  resting  upon  a  floor  swept  and  garnished  with  all 
the  ceremonials  of  domestic-science  propriety?  I  make  no 
claim  that  the  college  graduate  can  by  exalted  thought  stay 
the  ravages  of  the  typhoid  germ  or  neutralize  the  pangs  of 
indigestion;  but  I  hereby  protest  that  he  has  largely  escaped 
the  one-sided  mental  development  which  sees  "life"  only 
in  food  and  sanitation,  and  the  various  material  elements 
which  they  represent. 

One  of  the  greatest  absurdities  of  the  whole  attack  upon 
college  training  is  the  constant  assumption  that  its  finished 
product  has  been  immured  somewhere  all  his  school-life 
long,  whereby  he  has  been  absolutely  cut  off  from  contact 
with  everything  but  books,  and  those  books  leading  solely 
to  the  learned  professions.  Not  every  boy  now  serves  an 


THE  CALUMNIATED'  COLLEG?,A?s  101 

apprenticeship  in  equine  and  bovine  management  on  some 
relative's  farm;  but  even  in  these  days  it  is  the  very  excep 
tional  boy  or  girl  who  does  not  daily  come  into  contact  with 
all  manner  of  details  of  what  we  are  pleased  to  term  "prac 
tical  life."  And  in  the  college  preparatory  school,  and  still 
more  in  college,  there  are  numerous  forms  of  "student 
activities,"  theoretically  distinct  from,  but  always  growing 
out  of,  the  school  curriculum,  which  develop  and  train  execu 
tive  ability  in  matters  of  business  and  industry,  if  we  think 
special  training  in  those  things  so  tremendously  important. 

The  college  graduate  does  not,  and  never  did,  in  this 
country  at  least,  come  down  from  the  commencement  plat 
form  a  spectacled  dyspeptic,  who  has  a  "proper  disdain  for 
all  things  material,"  and  is  "helpless  where  business  is  con 
cerned."  Who  has  it  been  to  any  really  great  extent  but  the 
college  graduates  who  have  made  all  the  western  states 
rank  high  at  once  for  their  educational  standards  and  for 
their  business,  agriculture,  and  industry?  And,  be  it  re 
membered,  they  were  graduates  of  a  day  when  colleges 
were  much  more  narrowly  classical  than  now. 

Again,  it  is  of  no  little  significance  that  the  form  of  social 
work  generally  admitted  to  have  come  nearer  to  a  solution 
of  the  hard  problem  of  urban  poverty,  ignorance,  and  vice 
than  any  other,  is  for  the  most  part  prosecuted  under  the 
name  of  the  College  Settlement  Association.  Even  in  the 
cities  where  settlement  work  does  not  actually  bear  the 
college  name,  it  is  still  largely  directed  by  college-bred 
women  and  men,  with  college-bred  ideals.  I  reverse  the 
common  form  of  expression,  and  name  the  women  first,  be 
cause  I  believe  that  it  is  universally  admitted  that  this 
great  work  is  essentially  woman-devised  and  woman- 
executed,  although  it  has  had  the  valuable  cooperation  of 
many  thoughtful  and  educated  men.  But  I  also  believe  — 
what  is  not  so  generally  recognized  —  that  it  is  only  the 


102  THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN 

gradually  diffused  effect  of  college  training  upon  the  Amer 
ican  female  mind  which  has  ever  made  women  think  that 
they  can  do  such  great  things  as  these,  no  matter  though 
some  of  the  actual  workers  are  not  themselves  holders  of 
collegiate  degrees.  Higher  education  has  been  so  nearly  the 
sole  agency  in  the  awakening  of  women  to  a  consciousness  of 
their  powers  and  their  duties,  that  it  fills  me  with  amaze 
ment  and  consternation  to  see  the  strength  of  the  present 
movement  to  imprison  their  mental  activities  within  a 
narrow  technical  training,  which  boasts  that  its  highest  aim 
is  the  intensive  application  of  that  training  "in  the  home. " 

The  President  of  the  National  Women's  Trade  Union 
League  of  America  wrote  to  me  last  spring:  "We  are  espe 
cially  grateful  to  you,  because  the  newer  education  .  .  . 
which  is  being  given  to  boys  is  being  denied  to  girls  on  the 
theory  that  they  are  only  potential  wives  and  mothers.  If 
this  distinction  is  disastrous  in  the  world  at  large  by  depriv 
ing  the  girl  of  such  an  education  as  'can  give  the  greatest 
intellectual  strength,'  it  is  still  more  disastrous  in  the  in 
dustrial  world.  That  the  working  women  themselves  realize 
this  is  proved  by  the  action  taken  by  them  at  their  con 
vention  in  St.  Louis." 

This  action  was,  in  brief,  an  expression  of  their  appre 
ciation  of  the  fact  that  the  thing  which  above  all  places 
them  at  the  mercy  of  unscrupulous  employers  is  their  igno 
rance  and  consequent  intellectual  ineffectiveness. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  this  letter  came  one  from  a 
member  of  the  Wellesley  College  Faculty,  who,  writing  to 
me  of  the  fire  there,  said:  "Yes,  College  Hall  is  a  great  loss 
to  Wellesley,  but  the  splendid  human  values  which  the 
emergency  brought  forth  still  fill  me  with  a  sense  of  elation. 
The  vindication  of  the  value  of  training  for  women  which 
that  experience  afforded  seems  to  me  a  new  glory  for  the 
annals  of  the  college." 


THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN  103 

These  unsolicited  verdicts  from  persons  dealing  inti 
mately  with  two  opposite  and  representative  classes  of 
women  need  no  special  comment  to  a  reading  public  fa 
miliar  with  the  story  of  the  conduct  of  Wellesley  girls  and 
teachers  during  the  fire  and  after  it;  familiar  too  with  the 
difficulty  always  experienced  in  uniting  uneducated  work 
ing-women  for  an  intelligent  defense  of  their  own  interests. 

I  do  not  see  how  a  serious  person,  when  he  thinks  of  these 
things,  can  view  with  other  than  alarm  the  powerful  pres 
ent  tendency  to  lower  the  general  level  of  American  in 
tellectuality  by  teaching  that  education  means  merely  the 
introduction  of  certain  creature  comforts  into  slum  dwell 
ings  and  remote  farmhouses,  which  now  know  them  not. 
With  the  movement  for  a  general  diffusion  of  culture  and 
decent  living  in  these  backward  and  neglected  portions  of 
our  population,  no  one  can  have  anything  but  the  most 
ardent  sympathy.  But  that  real  culture,  or  any  truly  high 
standard  of  living,  can  be  secured  by  a  method  that  openly 
proclaims  all  processes  of  pure  intellect  inferior  in  educa 
tional  value  and  utility  for  life  to  mechanical  processes  and 
material  results,  seems  to  me  a  thesis  not  even  worthy  of 
argument. 

You  will  have  secured  a  desirable  thing  when  you 
have  the  housekeeper  of  the  slum  district  educated  up  to 
the  charms  of  clean  floors  and  windows,  and  to  the  intended 
function  of  the  bathtub;  you  will  have  secured  something 
equally  desirable  when  you  shall  have  brought  into  the 
barren  life  of  the  uncultivated  farmer  and  his  wife  an  ap 
preciation  of  the  aesthetic  possibilities  of  a  rustic  abode. 

It  will  be  even  better,  possibly,  when  you  have  provided 
for  them  and  their  children  those  wholesome  amusements 
and  opportunities  for  social  intercourse  which  human  na 
ture  craves  and  in  proper  measure  should  have.  But  an 
education  deliberately  so  planned  that  in  the  very  nature 


104  THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN 

of  things  it  must  stop  just  there,  will  never  reduce  the  num 
ber  "whose  life-work  is  not  in  harmony  with  their  talents," 
nor  will  it  assure  "satisfied  men  and  women."  Men  and 
women  are  never  satisfied,  if  satisfaction  depends  merely 
upon  what  they  have;  and  while  the  new  educational  plan 
may  perhaps  increase  the  earning  capacity  of  the  cheaper 
class  of  wage-earners  and  the  crop-raising  capacity  of  the 
farmer,  it  can  hardly  fail  also  to  increase  what  I  believe  to 
be  the  most  deadly  thing  in  nearly  all  ranks  of  society  to 
day  —  the  desire  to  be  merely  comfortable,  to  have  "pretty 
things,"  and,  above  all,  to  be  entertained  and  amused. 
And  in  increasing  that  by  a  measure  of  gratification  of  it,  it 
must  inevitably,  and  soon,  increase  the  resultant  discon 
tent  and  restlessness;  because  that  measure  is  never  great 
enough  to  keep  pace  with  the  ever-expanding  desire.  There 
is  no  remedy  for  that  discontent  but  the  well-filled  mind; 
vocational  training  must  consent  to  add  to  itself  the  studies 
which  give  that,  and  to  grant  the  full  time  which  those 
studies  require,  or  its  present  spectacular  success,  in  landing 
certain  deft-fingered  young  persons  in  what  are,  for  young 
persons,  well-paid  positions,  will  soon  be  known  for  the 
humbug  that  it  is,  and  the  present  popular  applause  be 
turned  into  hisses. 

Finally,  it  |seems  to  me  not  too  much  to  say  that,  if 
society  would  protect  itself  from  extinction  through  the 
hideous  agency  of  deadly  boredom  alone,  it  must  take 
active  measures  to  preserve  and  multiply  the  college  grad 
uate.  For  it  is  a  tremendous  fallacy  that  the  possessor  of 
only  the  trained  hand  can  hope  with  any  well-founded 
confidence  to  be  included  in  that  desirable  company  which 
is  both  interesting  and  interested.  For  the  hand  can  lose 
its  cunning,  and  even  where  its  continued  skill  perhaps  may 
keep  its  owner  happily  entertained,  common  candor  must 
admit  that  there  is  no  assurance  of  the  same  joyous  effect 
upon  that  owner's  associates. 


THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN  105 

This  fact  holds  true  in  all  walks  of  life,  and  irrespective  of 
sex.  If  you  could  persuade  every  woman  in  Atlanta  to 
sweep  a  floor  properly,  I  doubt  much  if  she  could  still  be 
guaranteed  an  agreeable  companion  for  a  rainy  Sunday. 
If  you  could  teach  every  "white  wing"  in  any  city  to  re 
move  the  dirt  of  the  streets  in  the  most  dustless  and  sani 
tary  manner  known  to  science,  I  still  question  whether  you 
would  wish  him  to  come  to  your  library  for  an  evening  of 
uplifting  conversation.  And  he  would  be  equally  lacking  in 
resources  for  se/f-entertainment  in  his  unemployed  hours. 

So  we  come  to  one  of  the  gravest  charges  that  can  be 
brought  against  the  "new  education":  that,  while  it  may 
bring  jobs  to  men  and  women  when  they  are  young,  it  pro 
vides  nothing  for  the  man  or  woman  retired  from  that  job 
by  age.  If  there  is  anything  beneath  the  stars  more  pitiable 
than  the  elderly  man  or  woman  with  no  active  purpose  left 
in  life,  and  no  intellectual  resources  from  which  to  draw 
occupation  and  interest,  I  have  not  yet  seen  it.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  is  nothing  which  so  effectively  robs  the  pros 
pect  of  old  age  of  its  terrors  as  the  sight  of  the  scholarly 
wearer  of  whitened  hair,  which  crowns  a  head  still  vigorous 
and  young  through  the  happy  preservative  agency  of  a 
trained  and  much-used  intellect.  Incidentally,  it  is  not  an 
infrequent  thing  to  behold  the  owner  of  such  a  head  making 
his  own  garden,  or  milking  his  own  Jersey  cow,  or  display 
ing  ample  efficiency  to  start  a  balky  horse. 

No  mechanical  process  can  guarantee  to  us  an  interesting 
life,  or  insure  us  against  boredom.  But  just  because  it  is 
something  more  than  a  mechanical  process,  a  college  edu 
cation  of  the  right  sort  comes  nearer  doing  this  than  any 
other  agency  we  know  —  certainly  nearer  than  any  drill  in 
cow-milking  or  scientific  cooking.  Its  value  to  us  and  to  the 
future  of  our  country  is  beyond  estimation.  If  the  time 
ever  comes  when  "vital"  is  taken  to  be  synonymous  with 


106  THE  CALUMNIATED  COLLEGIAN 

"lucrative";  when  the  life  of  the  mind  and  the  training  of 
the  mind  are  set  below  those  of  the  body;  when  intelligence, 
as  a  means  to  a  full  and  satisfying  life,  is  superseded  by 
prophylaxis  and  hygiene  —  then  we  may  well  wish  that 
we  had  listened  to  a  wiser  teacher. 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

HENRY    NOBLE    MACCRACKEN 

WHAT  is  the  faith  of  the  teacher?  What  the  secret 
strength  that  sustains  his  spirit  through  unprofitable  jour 
neys?  What  the  unfailing  source  that  will  keep  his  mind 
serene  through  the  long  hours  of  drudging  over  dusty  fields, 
the  dry  farming  of  the  soul,  savoring  little  of  the  fresh 
activities  of  his  own  world? 

For  there  must  be  some  religio  magistri:  some  magnetic 
quality  in  the  teacher's  chosen  way  to  point  his  compass 
true;  some  energy  inherent,  which  is  justified  in  the  men 
and  women  we  have  ourselves  known,  who  have  sought 
great  teaching  above  all  other  aspirations,  building  and 
establishing  with  skill  the  enduring  bases  of  this  last,  not 
least,  of  the  great  professional  services  of  civilization. 

It  is  intolerable  that  we  should  be  asked  to  state  this 
faith  of  ours  in  terms  of  money,  first  and  last;  yet  the  world 
is  to  blame  if  we  accept  its  price  for  us,  and  we  find  our 
selves  of  small  account.  The  publicity  given  to  college  and 
university  "drives"  flatters  only  the  unthinking;  the  suc 
cess  of  these  will  be  but  a  mere  pittance  in  the  budget  of  the 
profession.  In  Poughkeepsie,  in  the  week  of  this  writing, 
the  Board  of  Education  has  been  obliged  to  vote  a  strict 
enforcement  of  all  contracts  with  teachers ;  there  are  vacan 
cies  in  every  school  in  the  city,  and  unwilling  workers  are 
being  held  to  tasks  they  no  longer  desire  lest  the  whole  sys 
tem  give  way.  The  empty  schoolrooms  of  this  year  are, 
moreover,  few  compared  with  what  we  dread  for  the 
autumn  of  1921,  when  the  normal  schools  will  have  grad 
uated  the  smallest  classes  in  many  years.  Then,  just  as  the 


108  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

American  people,  aghast  at  the  revelations  of  illiteracy,  of 
provincialism,  of  class  and  racial  hatred,  —  the  daughters 
of  ignorance,  —  will  be  calling  for  teachers,  there  will  be 
none  to  answer. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  our  profession,  we  have 
accepted  the  money- value  at  which  the  public  has  priced  us 
as  an  index  of  our  worth.  What  irony  is  it  that  we  who 
have  always  placed  our  profession  above  all,  we  who  have 
never  sought  great  rewards,  whose  work  is,  in  the  larger 
sense,  disinterested,  should  be  thrust  forward  as  beggars, 
whining  for  an  alms!  What  a  joke  and  what  a  tragedy 
these  parades  of  college  boys  carrying  banners  inscribed 
"FEED  THE  PROF";  when  college  girls  masquerade  on 
Fifth  Avenue  in  their  grandmothers'  gowns,  and  alumnse 
hire  out  as  cooks  and  waitresses  "for  the  benefit  of  the 
Faculty  " !  Could  they  degrade  the  great  tradition  further? 

It  is  most  characteristically  American  that,  confronting 
such  a  situation  as  this,  we  should  seek  the  remedy  of  en 
dowment  campaigns  and  other  means  of  enhancing  the 
money-value  of  teachers.  We  turn,  as  Kipling  said  we  al 
ways  do,  a  keen,  untroubled  gaze  home  to  the  instant  need 
of  things.  But  having  gone  thus  far,  and  being  in  a  fair 
way  to  go  further,  we  think  we  have  solved  the  problem 
through  things.  There  is  need  of  a  different  emphasis, 
however.  The  economic  solution  is  primary,  it  is  true.  We 
must  pay  our  teachers  enough  to  maintain  them.  There  is 
little  comfort  in  being  told  that  you  are  a  natural-born 
teacher  when  you  cannot  obtain  a  natural  living.  Every 
college  in  the  land  faces  this  situation,  and  must  continue 
to  face  it  squarely.  If  the  increased  tuition  fees  of  edu 
cation,  barely  commensurate  with  increased  maintenance 
costs,  will  not  supply  the  additional  income  for  needed 
salary  increases,  our  colleges  must  supply  them  in  some 
other  way.  But  this  done,  they  cannot  leave  the  other 
undone. 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI  109 

More  lasting  and  more  vital  than  external  stabilization 
of  the  professor's  market- value  must  be  his  faith  in  his  call 
ing.  If  we  cannot  find  it,  if  we  cannot  reaffirm  it,  our  cause 
is  lost  in  advance.  Subsidies  and  endowments  will  never 
make  teachers  essential  to  the  people's  life.  Take  away  the 
religio  magistri,  and  teaching  becomes  no  longer  a  profession. 

The  teacher  cannot,  as  does  the  scholar,  find  a  retreat  of 
the  spirit  away  from  the  perils  and  perplexities  of  the  pres 
ent  life.  The  philologist  described  by  Gilbert  Murray  finds 
consolation  far  from  the  world,  in  the  kingdom  of  ancient 
letters.  His  salvation  is  conferred  by  mighty  spirits  of  the 
past,  which  free  him  from  the  body  of  his  present  death.  No 
such  refuge  could  ever  be  a  teacher's  source  of  power.  He 
may  seek  rest  and  recreation  through  the  study  of  the  class 
ics,  with  the  romantic  Hellenist  of  Oxford;  but  his  faith 
must  spring,  like  truth  of  old,  out  of  the  earth  in  which 
he  toils,  the  product  of  his  own  work  and  life.  Else  he  could 
make  no  headway  against  the  doubts  that  assail  him;  he 
must  surrender  the  battlefield  once  and  for  all.  The  teach 
er's  faith  must  be,  not  of  the  past,  but  of  the  living  pres 
ent;  not  of  the  completed  thought  of  the  ages,  but  of  the 
process  of  the  great  to  be;  otherwise  the  doubts  win. 

More  dangerous,  because  more  insidious,  enemies  than 
the  wolf  at  the  door,  are  the^foes  of  the  teacher's  spirit. 
We  can  restore  to  the  profession  some  self-respect  through 
adequate  salaries,  though  we  may  not  in  our  lifetime  over 
take  the  economic  supremacy  which  the  industrial  elements 
of  democracy  have  already  won.  At  least,  teachers  will  not 
starve.  But  what  if  we  destroy  the  one  liberty  which  should 
be  guaranteed  every  man  —  joy  in  labor?  A  widespread 
but  furtive  envy  of  intelligence  circulates  sneers  about  "col 
lege  professors."  Parents  of  pupils  encourage  an  atmos 
phere  of  criticism  and  opposition  in  the  classroom.  Gov 
erning  boards  and  administrative  autocrats  virtually  compel 


110  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

organization  by  teachers  in  defense  of  their  tenure  of  office. 
Under  such  conditions,  it  will  take  more  than  the  promise 
of  a  livelihood  to  beguile  young  aspirants  to  successful 
careers  in  the  field  of  teaching.  A  reward  must  be  shown 
which  will  make  the  workers  at  one  with  their  work  be 
cause  it  is  in  itself  worthy. 

Can  we  make  them  believe  in  its  reality?  For  there  are 
great  doubts.  The  teacher  of  to-day,  young  and  well  train 
ed,  eager  for  the  highest  service,  is  confronted  by  three 
barriers,  irreducible  and  baffling.  They  may,  for  want  of 
better  names,  be  called  educational  economics,  bio-psycho 
logical  determinism,  and  propagandism  —  long  words,  but 
the  forces  they  describe  have  no  familiar  names. 

Let  us  consider  the  economic  situation  of  contemporary 
education.  Here  is  a  scene  a  thousand  times  repeated  in 
the  American  schoolroom  of  to-day.  The  teacher  has  begun 
work  with  her  class.  A  group  of  eager  pupils  faces  her  from 
the  forms  —  impressionable  minds  ready  for  the  adventure 
of  learning.  Then  the  shadow  fills  the  doorway.  The  school 
principal  says,  "  I  'm  sorry,  but  the  superintendent  of 
schools  has  told  me  to  double  the  number  of  children  in 
every  room."  Of  course,  sixty  is  an  impossible  number  for 
teaching  in  one  room.  But  there  are  the  other  children. 
Where  shall  they  go?  And  the  golden  opportunity  is  gone. 

This  is  no  imaginary  scene.  It  happens  equally  in  the 
country  districts,  where  the  remote  district  schools  are  be 
ing  given  up,  and  even  more  in  the  congested  sections  of 
the  great  cities.  Conditions  like  these  make  mockery  of 
the  plans  and  dreams  of  the  ambitious  teacher.  Is  it  any 
wonder  that  most  of  the  energy  of  the  teaching  staff  is 
dissipated  by  worry  over  the  bare  economy  of  the  subject? 

This  attitude  finds  its  natural  reflection  in  the  national 
conception  of  education.  The  departments  of  education 
in  universities  concern  themselves  primarily,  of  necessity, 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI  111 

with  school-management  and  administration,  with  the  sta 
tistics  and  finance  of  the  industrial  organization.  The 
problem  of  putting  twenty-five  million  children  through 
school  on  an  inadequate  scheme  offers  problems  so  complex 
that  it  is  little  wonder  that  our  educational  specialists  are 
still  concerned  with  the  business  of  education,  and  have 
scarcely  risen  to  a  conception  of  education  as  a  science,  to 
say  nothing  of  an  art.  Worst  of  all,  the  immense  sums  in 
volved,  the  powers  connected  with  the  erection  and  use  of 
the  great  buildings,  and  the  profitable  connections  of  stud 
ies  and  textbooks,  all  contribute  toward  the  development 
of  a  type  of  personality  that  may  be  called  the  educational 
politician.  He  costs  the  profession  more  in  the  destruction 
of  morals  than  all  the  efficiency  experts,  the  economists, 
and  the  statisticians  of  education  can  replace.  The  result 
of  his  control  of  educational  policy  has  been  to  drive  out  of 
the  profession  the  highest  type  of  teacher;  because  teachers 
have  been  considered,  not  as  individuals,  but  as  units  in 
schemes,  and  have  been  made  the  playthings  of  boards  of 
education  and  of  district  leaders. 

The  same  economic  determinism  follows  the  teachers 
through  the  higher  grades  of  the  profession.  They  are  al 
ways  between  the  devil  of  poverty  —  not  alone  in  salary, 
but  in  departmental  equipment  and  resources  for  research 
—  and  the  deep  sea  of  the  student  tide.  Just  as  soon  as 
their  equipment  and  salary  become  adequate  to  their  de 
partmental  needs,  they  are  inundated  with  an  increased 
student  body,  and  the  old  plan  of  overwork  and  under- 
equipment  is  resumed.  Thus  teachers  are  driven,  uncon- 
senting,  to  think  of  students,  not  as  persons,  but  in  terms  of 
units,  hours,  semesters,  and  credits;  the  intimate  personal 
contact  of  teacher  and  pupil  becomes  impossible,  and  the 
old  academic  traditions  become  mere  memories. 

Determinism  of  a  different  sort  introduces  even  more 


112  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

serious  questions  for  the  teachers.  They  have  lived  under 
the  impression  that  the  bough  was  inclined  as  the  twig  was 
bent;  that,  by  training,  the  young  idea  could  be  taught  to 
shoot;  that  the  child  would  not  depart  from  the  path  he 
was  taught  to  go  in.  Brave  maxims!  But  are  they  true? 
Steadily,  year  by  year,  psychological  studies  of  ability  and 
biological  studies  of  heredity  take  away  from  the  teachers 
their  claim  to  a  share  in  character-formation.  Teachers 
must  reconcile  themselves  to  learning  that  they  cannot,  by 
taking  thought,  add  a  cubit  to  the  mental  stature  of  their 
students.  The  child  becomes  father  of  the  man  in  a  new 
sense,  most  fatal  to  the  ambitious  hopes  of  his  teachers. 
College,  we  learn  from  the  army  psychologists,  adds  practi 
cally  nothing  to  the  general  abilities  of  any  boy.  There  are 
two  classes  of  minds — the  fit  and  the  unfit;  education  nei 
ther  helps  the  one  nor  harms  the  other  in  any  appreciable 
degree.  The  truth  is  exaggerated  here,  of  course,  but  the 
problem  involved  strikes  teachers  in  almost  this  form.  And 
when  the  psychologists  are  reinforced  by  the  biologists, 
with  their  heredity  chromosomes  and  gametes;  by  the  en- 
vironmentists,  who  laugh  at  the  thirty  months  of  college 
scattered  among  vacations  and  week-ends,  and  ask  what 
possible  mental  adaptations  can  take  place  under  such 
handicaps,  the  teachers'  faith  may  struggle  bravely  against 
the  assaults,  but  can  you  wonder  that  they  feel  sometimes 
like  a  Lost  Battalion? 

The  heaviest  assault  is  in  reserve.  The  world  has  discov 
ered  the  great  half-truth  that  prejudices  of  youth  last 
longer  than  those  of  the  middle  miles.  So  the  world  comes 
to  the  school-door  with  its  propaganda.  It  begins  mildly 
enough:  simple  souls  conceive  the  idea  that  if  we  educate 
we  must  educate  "for"  something.  The  aim  of  education 
is  not  the  growth  of  the  student's  powers  into  maturity;  it 
includes  their  application  as  the  teacher  may  direct.  The 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI  113 

student  is  no  longer  to  be  dismissed  at  the  school-door;  the 
teacher  must  lead  him  to  the  gate  of  opportunity  and  must 
see  to  it  that  he  rings  the  bell. 

We  began  some  years  ago  to  educate  for  character,  and 
we  sent  to  our  boys  at  Christmas-time  "  School,  College  and 
Character";  we  progressed  into  education  for  service,  and 
sent  them  by  the  thousand  to  hear  John  R.  Mott  at  student 
conventions;  we  read  Dunn  and  Barnard,  and  trained  our 
teachers  to  educate  for  citizenship;  the  vocationalists  came 
down  upon  us,  and  we  tried  hard  to  educate  for  the  needs  of 
life.  Books  with  these  titles,  and  many  more,  stand  on  the 
teachers'  shelves,  each  an  idea  decayed  into  a  slogan. 

Herbert  Spencer  taught  us  long  ago  to  educate  for  life; 
he  pointed  out  that  the  education  of  any  age  could  but  re 
flect  the  social  aspiration  of  the  group  that  it  served.  But 
neither  he  nor  any  of  the  great  Victorian  writers  on  educa- 
cation  conceived  a  period  which  would  have  to  struggle 
with  so  many  isms  as  does  ours.  Both  at  top  and  at  bottom 
of  9ur  scale  we  see  new  academies  founded,  whose  primary 
object  is  not  knowledge  but  propaganda,  and  not  propa 
ganda  but  action,  and  direct  action  at  that.  The  Rand 
School  represents  one  type,  closely  affiliated  with  an  organ 
ized  political  party.  The  trade-unions  of  the  West  are  open 
ing  up  schools  for  the  children  of  union  workers.  Schools  of 
social  research,  which  begin  with  a  bill  of  rights  for  aca 
demic  freedom,  too  soon  tend  to  become  schools  where  prop 
aganda  is  substituted  for  research.  In  a  different  mode  we 
have  the  Ferrer  and  the  Socialist  Sunday  Schools.  Across 
the  river  from  my  home  is  the  Libertarian  Academy,  or  In 
ternational  School  for  the  Education  of  the  Children  of 
Radicals.  On  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  the  Protection 
and  Security  Leagues  are  equally  vociferous  in  a  campaign 
to  inculcate  patriotism.  The  Non-Partisan  League  of 
North  Dakota  recently  intimated  gently  to  professors  of 


114  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

the  state  university  that  it  might  be  well  for  them  to  join  a 
trade-union,  and  most  of  the  faculty  complied. 

Education  as  propaganda  is  the  sum  of  all:  no  time  for 
discussion,  no  time  for  research;  above  all,  no  time  for  dis 
passionate  consideration  of  both  sides.  Teachers  are  asked 
to  be  pleaders  on  one  side  or  the  other,  appointed  no  longer 
on  the  basis  of  character  and  ability,  but  on  the  basis  of 
official  subscription  to  one  party  or  the  other. 

Even  where  impartiality  is  supposed  to  exist,  the  method 
of  the  classroom  reminds  me  of  a  journey  I  once  took 
through  Bulgaria.  We  had  been  held  in  Constantinople 
during  a  plague  outbreak.  When  finally  the  Orient  Express 
was  allowed  to  leave,  Bulgaria  permitted  it  to  pass  through 
her  territory  only  on  condition  that  the  train  should  not 
connect  with  Bulgarian  soil.  So,  at  the  frontier,  the  train 
was  literally  sealed:  the  ventilators  were  closed,  the  doors 
were  locked,  and  soldiers  sat  in  the  corridor  with  guns  ready 
for  business,  to  shoot  anyone  who  lifted  a  window  as  much 
as  an  inch. 

Such  a  miserable  quarantine  is  that  to  which  some  par 
ents  would  condemn  our  teachers  of  to-day;  and  trustees, 
like  gendarmes,  are  held  accountable  to  resist  the  intrusion 
of  fresh  air  from  without.  When  such  powers  as  these  fight 
against  the  faith  of  teachers,  it  is  quite  beside  the  point  to 
argue,  as  some  members  of  the  profession  have  recently 
done,  that  the  teacher  is  not  all  that  he  should  be.  A  little 
plain  talk  from  Sir  Oracle  will  not  improve  matters.  It  is 
rather  a  source  of  wonder  that, these  foes  of  the  spirit 
should  have  caused,  upon  the  whole,  no  greater  disintegra 
tion  in  the  educational  armies  of  America.  It  is  not  low  sal 
aries  primarily  that  have  caused  the  break-up  of  faculties  in 
several  colleges  in  the  last  two  years :  it  is  educational  tyr 
anny.  And  if  we  are  to  restore  teaching  to  a  place  among 
the  professions,  we  must  not  merely  proclaim  boldly  our 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI  115 

teacher's  faith,  but  we  must  put  our  teacher's  religion  into 
practice  and  leave  the  issue  to  the  God  of  Battles.  All  honor 
to  those  who  have  not  yet  bowed  the  knee  to  the  Baal  of 
propaganda,  the  Moloch  of  the  mob,  and  the  Gogmagog, 
the  stuffed  bolster,  of  the  bio-psychological  deter minists. 
In  defiance  of  the  great  doubts,  teachers  can  but  nail  their 
theses  to  the  door,  and  leave  the  issue  to  time. 

To  the  cathedral  door,  then,  with  our  religio  magistril 
The  teacher's  articles  of  faith  are  three:  he  believes  in  his 
subject;  he  believes  in  his  pupil;  he  believes  in  himself. 

In  his  subject,  first,  that  it  is  the  best  of  all  possible  sub 
jects  under  the  sun  for  study,  research,  and  application. 
The  teacher  must  be  convinced,  like  any  other  salesman,  of 
the  value  of  the  commodity  in  which  he  deals.  Of  the 
teachers  I  have  known  whose  teaching  was  a  failure,  the 
greater  number  seemed  to  have  lost  faith  in  their  subject. 
It  is  the  one  great  law  of  teaching,  that  it  goes  by  infection. 
Many  a  half -hear  ted  pupil,  unwillingly  or  unwittingly  drag 
ged  into  chemistry,  has  caught  fire  from  the  flaming  zeal 
of  the  teacher. 

Of  course,  the  teacher's  faith  can  never  proceed  from 
half -knowledge.  Your  book-canvasser  who  repeats  his 
parrot  knowledge  of  the  grand,  illustrated,  authoritative 
history  of  the  war,  and  tries  to  simulate  an  interest  in  the 
edition  which  he  has  not  read,  is  the  type  of  untrained 
teacher  that  infests  our  schools.  When  we  realize  that  less 
than  a  quarter  of  our  six  hundred  thousand  teachers  have 
any  real  knowledge  of  then-  science,  and  only  a  tenth  of 
these  have  a  first-hand  acquaintance  with  authority  or 
experiment  in  any  field,  we  realize  how  much  is  parrot- 
study,  how  little  fact  or  reason,  in  American  education. 

So  true  is  this,  and  so  defective  our  system  of  education 
in  its  failure  to  make  the  teacher  a  learned  person,  that  our 


116  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

more  scholarly  group  is  in  violent  reaction  against  this 
state  of  things,  and  insists  that  there  is  nothing  to  teach 
ing;  that  teaching  is  but  pseudo-science.  If  a  man  knows 
something,  really  knows  it,  they  say,  he  can  teach  it  —  he 
cannot  help  teaching  it.  This  goes  with  Plato's  glorifica 
tion  of  knowledge  as  virtue,  and  is  reading  into  knowledge 
something,  it  seems  to  me,  which  it  does  not  ordinarily  con 
tain.  The  irritation  against  departments  and  professors 
of  education  among  university  professors  the  country  over 
is  due,  in  the  first  instance,  to  the  utter  failure  of  both 
public  and  private  education  to  train  and  hold  its  teachers, 
and  to  raise  them  from  a  conception  of  teaching  as  mere 
occupation  up  to  the  professional  point  of  view. 

Certainly  this  may  be  conceded:  that  if  any  one  of  us 
will  turn  time's  flight  backward  and  ask  himself  this  ques 
tion,  "Who  was  my  greatest  teacher?"  he  must  confess,  I 
think,  that  the  first  merit  of  his  best  teacher  was  acquaint 
ance  with  and  love  for  his  subject.  And  this  love  was  not 
diverted  by  thought  of  application  to  life,  by  vocational 
advantage  or  propaganda,  but  was  a  pure  love  of  the  sub 
ject  for  its  own  sake,  for  the  delight  of  its  discoveries,  the 
neatness  of  its  inventions,  the  harmony  and  perfection  of 
its  laws,  the  intricacy  and  smooth  workings  of  its  processes. 
The  love  was  that  of  a  good  chauffeur  for  his  motor,  of  a 
captain  for  his  ship.  What  does  he  care  where  he  sails  her, 
your  old  mariner?  Only  let  her  be  staunch  and  true,  sea 
worthy  and  responsive  to  helm,  and  he  will  love  her  for  bet 
ter,  for  worse.  Such  is  Gilbert  Murray's  "Religio  Gram- 
matici,"  to  which  I  referred,  in  which  your  scholar  proves 
triumphantly  and  conclusively  that  nothing  in  the  world  is 
so  worth  doing  as  settling  Hoti's  business.  What  he  actu 
ally  proves  is,  of  course,  that  he  is  a  great  teacher,  and  that 
in  teaching  teachers  as  Murray  does,  he  revitalizes  his 
subject. 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI  117 

Faith  in  one's  subject  is,  of  course,  apt  to  harden  into  its 
excess,  bigotry.  Nine  tenths  of  all  faculty  quarrels  are  due  to 
the  secret  contempt  with  which  one  professor  views  the  sub 
ject-matter  of  his  neighbor's  course.  Rara  avis  the  teacher 
who  commends  the  subject-matter  of  another  depart 
ment.  Here  and  there,  it  is  true,  one  sees  signs  of  a  better 
understanding,  chiefly  through  the  influence  of  national 
associations.  The  sciences,  in  particular,  have  shown  signs 
of  some  real  fraternizing  within  the  curriculum.  Botany 
frankly  acknowledges  its  debt  to  chemistry  and  physics; 
so  must  physiology.  But  the  feeling  is  not  always  recipro 
cal,  and  physical  chemistry  views  with  grave  suspicion  the 
heresies  that  may  arise  through  botanists  who  meddle  with 
osmosis. 

And  so  it  goes  round  the  faculty.  One  would  think,  for 
instance,  that  the  languages  would  welcome  departments 
of  comparative  literature.  As  it  has  turned  out,  the  sister 
languages  have  had  to  form  a  kind  of  league  of  nations, 
with  an  Article  X  to  prevent  unlawful  seizure  of  the  com 
mon  territory.  The  history  of  academic  toleration  is  a 
short  one,  and  full  of  petty  wars.  Teachers  must  give  up 
such  bigotry,  and  proclaim  instead  the  common  dignity  of 
all  fruitful  learning,  free  trade  over  all  frontiers,  reciprocity, 
and  mutual  understanding.  The  present  crisis  in  the  pro 
fession  will  not  be  in  vain,  if  such  a  result  is  obtained. 

And  the  teacher  must  have  faith  in  his  students.  He  must 
trust  their  growth  as  the  farmer  trusts  sun  and  rain  and 
soil  to  work  their  sestival  miracle.  Because  his  potato  crop 
has  failed,  will  the  farmer  despair?  On  the  contrary,  the 
farmer,  knowing  that  farming  is  a  highly  hazardous  busi 
ness,  and  subject  to  great  losses  and  great  gains,  becomes 
philosophical,  and  leaves  the  event  in  other  hands.  Profes 
sor  Royce  was  accustomed  to  recommend  mathematics  as 
a  preparation  for  philosophy;  agriculture  might  provide  the 
better  discipline. 


118  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

Your  average  teacher  seldom,  if  ever,  looks  on  teaching 
as  a  hazardous  occupation.  He  wants  perfection  all  the 
time,  and  grumbles  if  he  does  not  get  it.  There  are  teachers 
like  Professor  Lounsbury  who,  as  he  became  more  and  more 
the  scholar,  lost  faith  in  his  pupils,  and  contented  himself 
with  making  epigrams  upon  "the  incredible  capacity  of  the 
student  mind  to  resist  the  intrusion  of  knowledge,"  and  his 
famous  "a  few  more  pearls,  gentlemen.'*  There  are  also 
Northrops  of  Yale  and  Wrights  of  Harvard,  who  are  held 
in  loving  veneration  by  college  generations  responding  to 
their  faith  in  them,  and  looking  back  to  them  as  the  great 
personalities  of  their  university. 

Lack  of  faith  in  youth,  refusal  to  see  in  education  the 
usual  risk  of  crops,  presumptuous  assumption  of  all  the  re 
sponsibility,  these  are  the  failings  of  the  teacher  who  loses 
hold  of  this  cardinal  article  of  the  retigio  magistri.  And  it  is 
precisely  here  that  the  teacher  makes  his  great  mistake. 
Instead  of  adopting  nature's  laws  as  his  great  analogy,  he 
is  all  too  apt  to  assume  the  r61e,  not  of  teacher,  but  of 
tyrant  of  the  classroom,  and  by  a  false  discipline  to  force 
results.  The  effect  is  inevitable.  It  is,  as  Leatherstocking 
said,  "agin  nater,"  and  the  end  is  death. 

Your  true  teacher  loves  youth  for  its  own  sake,  as  he 
loves  his  subject;  he  keeps  himself  young  among  his  lads; 
he  sees  through  their  eyes  the  importance  of  the  matters 
that  engross  them;  he  brings  into  the  classroom  all  this 
wealth  of  allusion  which  this  knowledge  gives  him.  I  think 
of  old  Doctor  Furnivall  at  eighty-six,  one  of  the  great 
teachers,  though  not  in  classes  or  set  schools.  I  can  see 
him  now,  out  with  his  girls  on  the  Thames,  coxswain  of 
their  eight-oared  shell,  one  with  them  in  all  their  life,  his 
Shakespeare  and  Chaucer  Societies  forgot,  his  hated  snob- 
ocracy  pigeon-holed,  teacher  and  friend  of  half  London. 
When  his  associates  raised  a  fund  on  his  seventy-fifth  birth- 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI  119 

day,  all  he  would  accept  was  a  second-hand  eight-oared 
shell  for  his  girls  and  a  paid-up  cremation  ticket. 

The  teacher's  faith  in  his  students  receives  its  reward  in 
vicarious  ways  only.  Through  their  achievements  he  lives. 
Professor  John  Bassett  Moore  said  the  other  day:  "When 
I  learned  that  there  were  many  members  of  the  Peace 
Conference  who  considered  as  the  most  brilliant  and  best- 
trained  diplomat  in  Paris  my  pupil  Wellington  Koo  of  the 
China  Mission,  I  had  my  unalloyed  reward." 

Such  pleasure  is  akin  to  that  of  the  creative  artist;  but 
the  art  in  which  the  teacher  makes  his  impression  is  that 
of  life  itself,  and  always  through  the  personality  which  he 
has  trained.  The  true  teacher  withholds  his  hand  from  the 
temptation  to  guide  his  student.  He  distrusts  profoundly 
the  current  discussions  of  vocational  guidance.  He  believes 
in  bureaus  of  vocational  statistics,  and  would  lay  before 
his  students  the  whole  world  of  his  day,  with  every  oppor 
tunity  it  may  afford.  But  he  believes  that,  just  as  an  im 
prisoned  youngling  robin,  that  has  never  seen  flight  of  a 
bird,  will  fly  on  the  first  trial,  by  instinct,  out  of  the  opened 
cage,  so  the  effective  impulses  that  stimulate  the  choice  of 
careers  and  the  quest  for  success  are  deeply  rooted  in  per 
sonality,  and  should  be  held  sacred  by  parent  and  teacher 
alike.  This,  indeed,  is  the  ultimate  test  of  the  teacher's 
faith  in  his  student. 

It  is  even  more  important  that  the  religio  magistri  in 
clude  faith  in  himself.  There  is  no  true  teaching  without  it. 
The  only  discipline  worth  the  name  is  discipleship,  which 
cannot  come  unless  the  teacher  himself  inspires,  not  only 
affection,  but  admiration.  Sincerity,  the  one  thing  needful 
in  real  art,  begins  and  ends  with  the  teacher's  faith  in  him 
self.  It  is  the  secret  of  a  William  Graham  Sumner.  One  may, 
indeed,  affirm  that  the  art  of  teaching  rests  wholly  upon 
this  foundation.  Teaching  is  something,  but  enthusiasm 


120  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

is  everything,  as  Goethe  said.  It  is  certainly  the  secret  of 
personality. 

In  his  passion  for  perfection  —  for  your  teacher  is  al 
ways  a  perfectionist  —  the  teacher  too  often  fails  to  respect 
himself  or  his  calling.  He  subjects  his  own  best  capacities 
to  trivial  and  wasteful  compliance  with  irrelevancies.  He 
is  too  ready  to  leave  his  real  work  at  the  first  demand;  he 
cries  for  committee  work,  the  petty  detail  of  administra 
tive  routine,  the  civic  forum,  and  the  thousand  and  one 
little  snares  which  destroy  his  love  and  usefulness  for  his 
prime  functions.  Your  true  teacher  must  be  about  his 
Father's  business,  teaching;  he  has  time  scarcely  for  marks 
or  the  rules  of  faculties;  he  has  to  be  fenced  round,  pro 
tected,  forgiven  by  the  less  gifted.  For  him  rules  are  made 
to  be  broken,  and  there  is  no  known  record  of  a  great  teacher 
who  was  not  at  war  with  the  faculty  rules  of  his  time. 

Faith  in  one's  self  is  most  needed,  perhaps,  by  the 
teacher  of  younger  pupils.  Children  are  quickest  to  detect 
any  loss  of  self-confidence.  Adolescent  youth,  on  the  other 
hand,  responds  most  sensitively  to  responsibility  placed  in 
its  own  hands;  while  the  post-graduate  student  leans  most 
upon  the  teacher's  faith  in  subject-matter.  But,  for  pupils 
of  any  age,  the  teacher's  faith  must  be  in  himself  as  teacher, 
not  in  any  other  capacity.  He  may  sigh  to  take  part  in  a 
more  active  citizenship,  or  may  envy  the  productive  scholar, 
but  he  must  press  forward  to  the  mark  of  his  own  high  call 
ing.  He  cannot,  of  course,  be  a  teacher  without  keeping 
abreast  of  his  time;  he  must  study  and  probably  produce 
some  scholarly  work,  if  his  treatment  of  subject-matter  is 
to  be  fresh.  But  he  will  never  be  puzzled  as  to  which  treas 
ure  lies  closest  to  his  heart. 

It  is  often  charged  against  the  young  women  teachers 
who  comprise  three  fourths  of  the  nation's  staff,  that  they 
choose  the  profession  only  in  the  expectancy  of  leaving  it 


RELIGIO  MAGISTRI  121 

early  for  marriage.  This  may  be  true.  It  is  also  true  that 
thousands  of  young  men  teach  a  short  time  before  entering 
other  professions.  The  lives  of  the  greatest  Americans  al 
most  always  contain  such  periods.  But  all  this  has  but 
little  to  do  with  the  standards  that  can  be  upheld.  It  is 
perfectly  possible,  as  our  army  proved,  to  build  up  morale 
in  a  force  whose  term  is  short.  The  problem  must  be  ap 
proachable  from  another  angle.  If  school  administrations, 
boards  of  education,  and  parents'  associations  will  seek  to 
prove  that  the  community  has  faith  in  the  teacher,  it  will 
not  be  hard  for  teachers  to  obtain  faith  in  themselves. 

If  the  community  fails  in  this  duty,  there  is  but  one  alter 
native  left  to  the  teachers  —  to  organize  in  defense  against 
the  community,  and  to  demand,  not  only  the  salaries  which 
the  work  deserves,  but  that  share  in  civic  responsibility 
which  their  service  merits.  Teachers  will  then  be  accused 
of  greed  and  selfishness,  of  desertion  of  the  high  standards 
of  their  calling.  Such  censure  will  be  unjust.  If  public 
opinion  responds  only  to  the  power  of  group-interests,  if 
disinterested  service  is  forgotten,  who  will  be  to  blame 
when  the  teachers  join  the  other  organized  groups  of  labor 
in  the  civil  war  of  class  interests?  The  writer  hopes  that  no 
such  action  will  be  taken;  he  believes  that  all  gains  of  war 
are,  in  the  final  analysis,  Pyrrhic  victories.  But  we  are 
drifting,  and  it  may  soon  be  too  late  to  work  for  the  true 
faith. 

Misbegotten  self-esteem,  like  the  false  knight  of  the 
"  Faerie  Queene,"  steals  the  accoutrements  of  the  knight  of 
the  true  faith  and  fools  the  world.  Not  so  that  faith  of  the 
born  leader  which  is  fortified  by  conviction  that  one's  work 
is  essential,  that  one's  subject  is  indispensable,  that  one's 
students  will  be  loyal;  and  having  done  all,  stands.  Such 
leaders  of  the  teacher's  faith  we  need  to-day.  The  right 
wing  of  our  school  army  has  been  broken  in  by  the  threat  of 


1*2  RELIGIO  MAGISTRI 

economic  disaster;  the  left  wing  has  disintegrated  under 
the  insidious  filtration  that  is  corrupting  the  integrity  of 
our  profession.  It  is  time  to  move  forward  with  our  centre 
to  the  attack. 


OUR  VILLAGE 

WILLIAM   PETERS   REEVES 

HOURS  from  any  city,  our  village  has  changed  little  since 
fifty  years  ago.  It  had  then  a  hotel,  and  the  country  round 
about  was  so  wild  that  visitors  from  the  city  came  in  the 
summer  for  a  change.  Now,  most  of  the  great  oak  forests 
have  been  cut  for  railway-ties,  the  game  has  been  shot,  the 
bass  may  rarely  be  caught  in  the  river.  Hills  that  cut  off 
the  horizon  are  dotted  with  sheep ;  from  the  tops  one  gets  a 
sweep  of  country  with  few  farmhouses  in  sight.  There  are 
cities  beyond;  there  is  no  sense  of  remoteness,  such  as  one 
feels  in  looking  to  the  north  and  knowing  that  one  might  go 
to  the  Arctic  Circle  without  seeing  a  town. 

Our  isolation  is,  therefore,  not  geographical.  We  are  in 
the  midst  of  what  a  facetious  editor  of  the  nearest  city  calls 
"the  garden  spot  of  the  world."  Powerful  limousines  oc 
casionally  go  through  the  village,  showing  a  mild  curiosity 
and  large  interests  behind  and  beyond.  The  single  track  of 
railroad  fills  the  valley  at  irregular  intervals  with  unneces 
sary  shrieks  of  freight  engines;  sonorous  passenger  whistles 
multiply  warnings  for  bridge  and  station  on  the  more 
familiar  hours,  or  insolently  rouse  the  sleeping  villagers 
when  the  midnight  train  goes  through  without  stop.  Trav 
elers  rarely  get  off;  salesmen  supply  our  simple  wants  once 
or  twice  a  year,  between  trains :  there  is  no  hotel,  nor  would 
their  commissions  justify  staying  over-night.  There  is  not 
even  a  boarding-house. 

The  village  is  not  interested  in  strangers  to  the  extent  of 
putting  them  up  for  the  night.  It  has  nothing  to  offer. 
There  are  no  struggling  manufactories  needing  capital; 


124  OUR  VILLAGE 

there  are  no  resources  inviting  capital.  The  villagers  own 
their  plain  frame  houses,  built  many  years  ago.  Five  new 
houses  have  been  added  in  thirty  years.  Our  taxes,  less  an 
amount  barely  necessary  to  run  the  school  and  street- 
lamps,  go  to  the  county  and  state.  We  have  no  paved 
streets,  no  sewerage  system,  no  police  or  fire  department. 
A  private  corporation,  with  most  limited  liability,  furnishes 
water.  All  I  get  from  taxes  is  a  feeble  natural  gas-light 
below  on  the  unmade  street ;  but  when  the  village  could  no 
longer  pay  a  man  to  put  out  the  street-lamps,  the  gas  com 
pany  shut  off  the  gas.  We  then  went  out  at  night  with 
lanterns. 

We  are  all  poor.  Two  or  three  villagers  with  independent 
means  go  and  come;  no  one  knows  or  cares,  for  their  in 
fluence  is  negligible.  No  captain  of  industry  commands 
anybody.  There  is  no  labor-problem,  for  there  is  no  labor. 
A  few  able-bodied  workmen  may  now  and  then  be  engaged, 
if  they  have  nothing  more  important  to  do,  and  if  they  feel 
like  working.  When  it  is  not  loaned  on  mortgage,  the  vil 
lage  carpenter  keeps  a  heavy  balance  in  the  bank.  He  has 
helped  many  a  less  energetic  friend,  without  security  and 
without  return.  We  have  no  labor-union,  perhaps  because 
there  are  no  employers  of  labor.  I  may  get  help  when  I  am 
my  own  contractor  and  head- workman.  I  may  practise  any 
trade  without  boycott.  Infrequent  periods  of  such  improve 
ment  furnish  innocent  excitement.  Little  checks  change 
hands,  neighbors  stop  to  comment;  night  brings  a  sense  of 
exquisite  fatigue.  One  jingles  money  for  unforeseen  nails 
and  bolts  and  paint.  At  other  times  one  may  go  for  weeks 
with  only  a  bit  of  silver  for  church. 

Occasionally  an  ancient  oak  must  come  down.  An  up 
start  red  oak  shows  but  ninety-seven  rings;  a  white  oak 
felled  the  other  day  had  two  hundred  and  sixty-five  rings; 
where  are  other  trees  that  were  living  in  Milton's  time? 


OUR  VILLAGE  125 

Up  in  the  garret,  to  stop  squirrel-holes,  I  noticed  that  all 
the  rafters  and  beams  were  of  white  oak.  And  the  stone  of 
the  house  was  quarried  from  a  local  hillside.  Infinite  labor 
it  took  to  saw  and  hew  those  timbers  from  the  fellow  of  the 
white  oak ;  men  in  the  village  to-day  do  not  quarry  the  local 
stone,  trim  the  huge  blocks,  and  swing  them  on  to  two-foot 
walls,  the  prize  of  my  modest  possessions.  Our  two  new 
houses  came  from  mail-order  concerns,  machined  from  the 
thinnest  lumber  that  will  hold  a  house  together. 

Two  small  general  stores  maintain  a  rivalry  begun  gen 
erations  ago.  The  village  humorist  and  historian  entered 
one  the  other  day  with  a  copy  of  the  village  paper  printed 
in  the  eighteen-fifties.  "  I  see  in  this  paper  that  you  adver 
tise  photographs  of  the  village.  I  should  like  to  buy  some." 
The  proprietor  walked  over  to  an  old  cherry  cabinet,  and 
from  a  drawer  took  out  photographs  faded  and  yellow  with 
age.  The  man  of  humor  gravely  inspected  them.  "Well," 
he  finally  remarked,  "  I  see  it  pays  to  advertise.'* 

The  newspaper-presses  and  type,  and  the  building  con 
taining  them,  have  all  disappeared.  The  village  tinker,  who 
could  mend  a  watch  or  gun  or  sewing-machine,  is  dead,  and 
no  one  takes  his  place.  Anciently  there  were  three  churches, 
each  with  a  full  congregation  militantly  active  in  urging  a 
special  form  of  truth.  Two  churches  now  more  than  answer 
the  need,  and  only  in  days  of  acute  national  crisis  have  they 
been  crowded. 

Only  two  classes  of  people  may  live  in  our  village  content 
edly:  those  who  have  ample  resources  of  occupation  and 
interest  within  themselves,  and  those  who  have  and  crave 
none.  There  is  no  ready-made  amusement.  We  have  no 
saloon,  no  theatre,  no  moving-picture  show.  There  is  no 
community  playground  or  athletic  field.  There  is  no  club. 
In  front  of  a  stairway  of  a  fraternal  order,  buggies  and 
sleighs  will  be  hitched  on  an  occasional  night.  Once  a  year, 


126  OUR  VILLAGE 

one  church  will  give  the  annual  supper;  once  a  year,  the 
other  church  will  give  the  annual  supper.  Women  gather 
weekly,  to  sew  for  mountain  whites.  The  school-board 
meets  once  a  month,  or  oftener  if  the  itch,  measles,  or 
other  epidemic  threatens;  and  between  solemn  prophecies 
on  the  state  of  the  nation  and  personal  criticism  of  the 
Powers,  votes  the  budget  for  salaries  and  the  gas-bill.  At 
election  time  results  of  the  144  votes  are  posted,  no  longer 
showing  an  even  balance  of  straight  tickets,  but  highly 
eclectic  groups. 

The  village  is  not  gregarious.  The  common  cause  and 
common  labor  of  the  pioneer  have  changed  to  furtive  am 
bitions  and  concealed  purposes.  Intensive  individualism 
successfully  withstands  all  attempts  at  cooperation,  in  time 
of  peace.  In  war,  without  announcement,  without  noise  or 
argument,  the  village  exceeded  its  quota  of  men  and  money 
in  every  count,  revealing  unity,  hard  cash,  and  patriotism 
unguessed  by  anyone. 

The  lack  of  express  community  spirit  had  grieved  more 
eager  souls.  Several  years  ago  the  parson  brought  back 
from  the  East  ambitious  plans  for  community  welfare. 
There  were  many  committees  appointed,  as  on  music, 
dramatics,  lectures,  sport.  Soon  complaints  were  lodged 
that  the  orchestra  kept  people  awake,  and  no  one  can  deny 
that  the  village  regards  sleep,  beginning  at  ten  o'clock,  sun- 
time,  as  of  more  importance  than  the  playing  of  an  orches 
tra  never  so  sure  of  itself  as  to  put  the  audience  at  ease. 

What,  it  will  be  asked,  do  we  accomplish  in  such  anti 
social  contentment?  We  read.  The  metropolitan  press  con 
sumes  from  one  to  three  hours  a  day;  magazines  fill  several 
days  a  month;  but  books  are  the  serious  business  of  life. 
We  read  many  books,  big  books,  works  in  volumes,  through. 
A  literary  man  in  a  narrow  city  flat  will  write  a  book  in  less 
time  than  a  villager  will  master  one.  But  the  villager  se- 


OUR  VILLAGE  127 

lects  with  canny  choice;  the  best  seller  has  little  significance 
for  him;  he  may  still  be  reading  Gibbon.  A  girl  in  the  vil 
lage  school  asked  for  the  best  edition  of  Chatterton. 
Fashion  in  books  works  little  change  in  our  taste;  one  may 
read  Tennyson  without  impeachment;  and  while  our  sense 
of  humor  is  too  delicately  poised  to  tolerate  a  Browning 
Society,  there  are  those  who  find  comfort  in  the  legal  en 
tanglements  of  his  old  Italian  law-case.  The  larger  spirits 
of  the  past  seem  to  satisfy.  "  I  can  read,'*  said  one  villager, 
"almost  anything  but  new  books.  Old  men  inform,"  he 
went  on  with  Baconian  antithesis,  "new  men  disturb." 

The  village  is  little  given  to  litigation.  No  attorney's 
sign  may  be  seen.  Years  ago  we  had  our  last  cause  celebre. 
It  was  about  a  piano.  The  school-board  had  purchased  an 
instrument  that  would  not  stay  in  tune.  The  issue  came  up 
when  the  tuner  in  despair  asked  whether  the  piano  was  at 
concert  or  international  pitch.  No  one  knew.  The  tuner 
made  remarks  that  led  the  board  to  think  that  they  had 
been  swindled.  The  last  payment  was  refused,  and  the 
dealer  sued. 

The  case  came  to  trial  before  the  local  justice.  The  plain 
tiff's  lawyer,  a  large  man  with  long  hair,  which  he  roached 
up  masterfully  in  his  argument,  wore  a  white  clerical  cravat 
and  long  black  frock-coat.  He  listened  to  witnesses  with 
good-natured  tolerance.  When  our  musical  expert  took  the 
chair,  —  a  timid  woman  who  had  never  been  in  court,  — 
the  lawyer  roused  himself.  "You  say  that  you  are  a  pro 
fessional  musician  and  that  you  know  all  about  pianos. 
Will  you  kindly  tell  this  court  how  many  keys  there  are  on 
this  piano  that  the  board  bought  and  refuses  to  pay  for? 
You  cannot?  You  don't  know  how  many  keys  there  are  on 
it?  You  presume  to  come  here,  under  oath,  and  pose  as  a 
musical  expert,  and  can't  tell  how  many  keys  there  are  on 
a  piano?"  He  motioned  to  his  assistant  to  take  down  the 


128  OUR  VILLAGE 

testimony.  "Well,  perhaps  you  can  tell  us  the  pitch  of  this 
piano?  You  don't  know  what  pitch  it  is?  Is  n't  the  pitch  of 
a  piano  important?  You  have  a  piano?  You  know  what 
pitch  it  is?  Concert  pitch  —  very  good.  Now  you  say  you 
don't  know  the  pitch  of  the  piano  in  litigation,  and  you 
claim  to  be  a  musical  expert."  Again  the  assistant  takes 
testimony.  "How  old  is  this  piano?  You  don't  know  that 
either?  Are  n't  you  familiar  with  the  types  and  styles  of 
pianos?  You  are.  You  could  tell  an  old  piano  from  a  new 
one?  You  could;  yes,  one  does  n't  have  to  pretend  to  be  a 
musical  expert  or  study  under  Liszt  to  do  that.  But  you 
don't  know  how  old  this  piano  is?  How  's  that?  An  obso 
lete  type?  Too  old  to  guess  at?  That  '11  do." 

The  board  won  the  case,  for  the  clerk  deposed  that  a 
piano  at  international  pitch  had  been  ordered,  and  the 
tuner  could  not  affirm  that  the  piano  was  at  any  pitch,  or 
that,  if  tuned  to  a  pitch,  it  would  stay  there  over-night. 

The  other  case  never  came  to  court.  A  city  man  had 
loaned  a  farmer  money,  taking  a  mortgage  on  the  stock  and 
fifteen  tons  of  hay.  Late  the  next  spring  hay  had  doubled 
in  value,  and  with  the  note  unpaid  the  city  man  came  up  to 
foreclose.  He  made  a  satisfied  examination  of  the  stock, 
and  then  saw  that  the  mow  was  empty. 

"Where  's  the  hay  you  put  up  as  security? " 

"Well  —  I  gawnteed  to  keep  the  stock  in  good  condition, 
and  I  fed  'em  the  hay." 

We  do  not  live  on  excitement.  One  or  two  men  are  mem 
bers  of  city  clubs,  and  are  drawn  periodically  into  the  fever 
ish  and  noisy  life.  Their  example  is  not  approved.  As  none 
of  us  makes  money,  the  fine  art  of  living  lies  in  saving  what 
we  can.  Pleasure  is  in  making  an  old  coat  do  another  year, 
not  in  buying  a  new  one.  There  can  be  no  real  enjoyment 
in  paying  club  dues,  smoking  expensive  cigars,  drinking 
costly  drinks,  when  the  wife,  with  intelligent  care,  saves  ten 


OUR  VILLAGE  129 

cents  a  pound  on  coffee,  and  no  one  can  tell  the  difference. 
Nor  do  our  club-men  come  back  apparently  benefited :  how 
ever  gay  and  pleasant  clubs  may  be  within,  a  certain  de 
pression  always  accompanies  the  man  home. 

So,  in  our  village,  we  do  without  everything  the  live, 
active,  accomplishing  world  regards  as  necessary.  We  read 
Gibbon,  eat  light  suppers,  and  go  to  bed  early.  But  child 
hood  is  still  the  great  miracle  with  us;  angels,  we  know,  live 
in  our  houses,  and  we  look  out  upon  a  world  of  misery  and 
pain,  grieving  that  our  arms  do  not  reach  beyond  the 
village. 


THE  SUBURB  DE  LUXE 

EDWABD   YEOMANS 

AUTOMOBILES  are  streaming  in  from  all  sides  to  the  sta 
tion,  and  are  engaged  at  the  platform  in  their  everlasting 
business  of  disgorging  well-dressed  and  highly  polished  men 
and  women  for  the  nine  o'clock  train. 

Newspapers  are  selling  fast.  It  is  the  beginning  of  an 
other  day,  and  a  most  auspicious  beginning,  because  the 
day  begins  in  Toppington.  If  you  can  begin  your  day  in 
Toppington,  you  have  begun  it  right;  and  if  you  can  end  it 
there  also,  in  a  tuxedo,  you  can  fill  it  up  with  anything,  and 
it  must  be  a  profitable  day. 

There  is  an  air  of  glad  well-being  on  the  platform;  shoes 
have  been  polished  in  basements  by  the  man  who  does  the 
shoes;  clothes  have  been  taken  from  closets  full  of  very  well- 
pressed  and  very  recent  clothes;  and  breakfast  has  been  of 
the  ritualistic  sort  —  with  the  crusts  trimmed  off  the  toast, 
the  cream  particularly  rich,  the  cantaloupes  especially  lus 
cious,  the  coffee  in  extra  large  cups,  the  omelette  scuffled. 

The  children  have  come  in  with  the  governess,  made 
their  morning  salutations,  been  kissed  and  jollied,  and  taken 
their  seats  at  a  side  table.  There  have  been  gracious  re 
marks  and  inquiries  as  to  how  everybody  slept,  and  plans 
hurriedly  suggested  for  golf  or  other  engagements  in  the 
afternoon. 

Everybody  is  very  sure  that  this  is  the  height  of  family 
life,  and  that  here  the  foundations  of  society  are  laid  in  the 
concrete  of  good  form. 

The  motor  whirls  up  to  the  front  door,  and  amid  hurried 
messages,  kisses,  and  cigarette  smoke,  the  males  briskly 
enter  the  shiny  car  and  buzz  away  to  the  train. 


THE  SUBURB  DE  LUXE  131 

"Good  morning,  good  morning;  beautiful  day!  How  is 
Natalie  this  morning?  Oh,  so  glad  to  know  she  is  better. 
And  now  you  will  be  leaving  soon  for  California.  We  go  in 
January,  but  to  Florida.  No,  the  links  in  Florida  are  in 
ferior,  but  Kate  demands  that  Gulf  air  and  the  early 
tomatoes  and  strawberries." 

"What  do  you  think  of  Wilson's  drool  this  morning? 
Going  to  the  smoker?  Well,  so  long,  old  top." 

Or  —  "Hello,  Joe — back  again,  eh?  How  long  at  a  time 
do  you  pretend  to  live  a  serious  life?  You  certainly  are  a 
bum.  Where  were  you?  Well,  French  Lick 's  the  only  place 
for  you  brokers.  Did  you  see  Jim  there?  He  made  a  big 
killing,  I  hear,  and  is  fixed  for  life.  Bully  for  him!  And  I 
am  especially  glad  for  Helen  and  the  kiddies,  who  have  been 
down  to  brass  tacks  lately  —  only  two  servants,  and  Jim 
fixing  his  own  furnace  and  blacking  his  own  boots." 

Or  —  from  Harry,  very  highly  dressed  and  very  twitchy 
and  jerky  about  the  head,  with  roving  eyes  and  a  flannel 
mouth :  " My  dear  boy,  where  the  hell  have  you  been?  Oh, 
you  're  the  predatory  rich,  all  right !  But  see  here,  for  God's 
sake,  what  about  that  gas  stock?  Sh!  Come  here,  man; 
I  'm  going  to  talk  to  you." 

From  a  bright  and  natty  lady:  "Good  morning,  doctor. 
I  did  so  want  to  see  you  after  church  yesterday  —  to  thank 
you  for  that  beautiful  sermon." 

The  doctor  smiles,  —  a  smile  as  old  as  Toppington;  a 
smile  that  represents  the  worst  that  Toppington  can  do  to  a 
man,  —  and  the  doctor  says:  — 

"I  had  you  in  mind  —  and  that  sweet  family  of  yours. 
How  is  Rosalie  this  morning?  Give  her  my  love;  she's  a 
dear,  dear  child,  and  very  close  to  all  our  hearts. 

"  No,  my  suggestion  to  the  House  Committee  regarding 
whiskey  at  the  Golf  Club  w^as  —  was  —  well,  I  actually 
think  they  resented  it,  and  so,  of  course,  I  dropped  the 


132  THE  SUBURB  DE  LUXE 

matter.  For  it  is  furthest  from  my  desire  to  offend  anyone 
in  this  dear  place. 

"Is  that  Caroline?  Dear  me,  did  she  really  move  to 
Roseville?  I  have  often  wondered  how  her  father  and 
mother  survived  that.  And  they  do  look  older,  don't  you 
think  so?  But  Helen,  Rose,  and  Catherine  are  a  great  com 
fort.  They  are  maintaining  the  fine  old  Toppington  tradi 
tion;  they  are  very  dear  girls,  very  dear  girls,  very  close  to 
all  our  hearts. 

"Yes,  I  go  in  town  Mondays,  to  look  over  our  mission 
parish.  Really,  I  regret  the  fact  that  our  Toppington  peo 
ple  take  so  casual  an  interest  in  this  beautiful  charity.  I  am 
sometimes  afraid  I  do  not  quite  f ulfil  my  obligation  here  by 
pointing  out  a  little  more  clearly  the  disparity  between  some 
of  my  friends  here  and  some  of  them  there,  as  regards  — 
income." 

"Yes,  but,  doctor,  nothing  could  be  done  about  it,  of 
course;  it  is  just  one  of  those  things,  you  know,  that  happen 
to  be  so,  don't  you  think?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  it;  I  think  so;  but  those  people  are  a 
little  too  much  forgotten,  perhaps,  and  I  frequently  have 
cause  to  think  that  they  may  remind  us  of  their  presence 
some  day  in  an  embarrassing  manner.  Did  you  ever  think 
of  that?  And,  you  know,  nothing  is  so  embarrassing  as  to 
be  confronted  with  an  importunate  widow,  for  instance, 
who  kicks  on  the  door  and  keeps  screaming,  *  Justice ! ' 

"But,  my  dear,  I  mustn't  worry  you  with  my  doubts. 
My  best  wishes  for  you  always.  Good-bye." 

At  that  point  the  train  grinds  to  a  halt,  with  a  resolute 
expression  of  taking  into  New  York  a  group  of  people  who 
add  all  the  salt  to  that  otherwise  tasteless  stew.  Very  im 
portant  gentlemen,  saying  very  important  things  and  think 
ing  priceless  thoughts,  take  their  seats  and  open  their  pa 
pers;  and  even  more  important  ladies  —  on  their  way  to 


THE  SUBURB  DE  LUXE  133 

Lord  and  Taylor's,  or  leaving  for  a  little  change  in  Lake- 
wood  or  Asheville  —  settle  into  places  and  talk  about  noth 
ing  with  great  animation. 

Two  men  in  spats  and  gloves,  and  with  the  "club-car" 
faces  of  commerce,  after  looking  over  the  paper,  hurriedly 
begin  to  discuss  the  situation. 

"One  would  suppose,  now  the  war  is  over  and  the  neces 
sity  for  improvements  and  extensions  is  very  great,  the 
railroads  would  begin  buying;  but  they  don't  seem  to  want 
to  begin,  for  some  reason." 

"Why,  don't  you  see,"  says  the  other  pink-faced  wor 
shiper  of  Baal,  "it 's  this  way:  the  railroads,  and  the  other 
interests  too,  for  that  matter,  don't  propose  to  do  anything 
to  promote  employment  until  the  labor- world  comes  to  its 
senses  on  wages.  They  propose  to  show  labor  where  it  gets 
off  at." 

"Well,  that  sounds  reasonable  to  me.   I  only  hope  they 
don't  show  us  first.  You  know  I  sometimes  say  to  my  wife: 
*  Carrie,  what  would  you  do  now  if  we  busted  higher  than  a 
kite  —  if  we  had  to  come  to  living  on  five  thousand  dollars 
a  year,  say  —  about  a  tenth  of  what  it  costs  us  now? ' 
'  *  Where  would  we  live?'  she  asks. 
'  *  Well,  suppose  we  had  to  move  to  Newark  or  Jersey 
City?' 

*  Don't  talk  utter  nonsense,'  she  says,  'and  be  sure  to 
engage  two  staterooms  on  the  Limited  to  Santa  Barbara 
for  Friday,  the  twentieth. ' 

"But  I  can't  help  thinking  of  folks  in  Petrograd  these 
days,  who  used  to  do  about  the  same  things  we  do  —  but 
are  doing  something  very  different  now:  standing  hours  in 
line  for  black  bread.  Two  staterooms  to  Santa  Barbara  on 
the  Limited!" 

One  of  the  wives  in  front,  overhearing  this  outburst, 
turns  about  and  with  a  flashing  eye  says  to  her  husband's 
friend:  — 


134  THE  SUBURB  DE  LUXE 

"John  is  n't  the  sport  he  used  to  be,  is  he?  What  's  the 
matter  with  him,  anyhow?  I  think  it  was  that  book  by 
Jane  Addams  about  children  and  the  city  streets.  I  Ve  had 
a  lot  of  trouble  with  him  since  that.  Brace  up,  John;  just 
because  you  are  virtuous,  or  dyspeptic,  or  senile,  or  some 
thing,  do  you  expect  me  to  join  the  Christian  Endeavor 
Society?" 

And  so  the  conversation  develops,  indicating  on  the  part 
of  the  men  a  certain  faint-hearted  respect  for  history,  in 
spite  of  their  repugnance  for  change;  but  revealing  the 
women  as  defiant,  and  unchastened  by  any  least  apprecia 
tion  of  what  is  taking  place  in  the  world. 

The  entire  package  of  humanity,  done  up  in  several  dark- 
green  steel  cars,  is  injected  into  New  York  and  ejected  from 
New  York  daily.  It  stays  long  enough  to  move  the  little 
levers  that  divert  a  great  deal  of  the  wealth  earned  by  thou 
sands  of  poor  folks  into  the  channels  that  irrigate  Topping- 
ton  and  sustain  its  beaming  countenance.  It  is  a  nickel-m- 
the-slot  machine  raised  to  its  highest  power. 

In  the  club  car  forward,  groups  of  absorbed  gentlemen, 
shrouded  in  tobacco  smoke,  play  cards  while  the  train  rushes 
through  more  and  more  inferior  suburbs  as  it  approaches 
the  city.  They  never  look  out  of  the  windows.  They  might 
get  a  hint  from  Greenwood  Cemetery  as  it  flies  past,  mak 
ing  hideous  gestures  with  its  obelisks  and  granite  deformi 
ties.  They  are  polished  people,  operating  in  polished 
grooves  —  things  outside  have  no  interest  and  excite  no 
curiosity.  A  man  from  Roseville  may  meet  a  man  from 
Toppington  on  business,  or  through  mutual  friends;  he  may 
get  a  word  on  that  occasion;  but  it  is  the  only  occasion  on 
which  he  will.-  Thereafter  he  will  get  the  fishy  eye  or  the 
far-away  gaze  of  the  preoccupied  man. 

For  Toppington  is  very  much  preoccupied;  its  engage 
ments  are  imperative.  It  has  an  intense  sense  of  its  re- 


THE  SUBURB  DE  LUXE  135 

sponsibilitics.  It  is  part  of  the  two  per  cent  who  own  sixty 
per  cent  of  the  wealth  of  the  country.  Its  idol  is  ability  — 
ability  to  maintain  about  that  proportion  of  ownership.  It 
is  actually  reptilian  in  its  hissing  anger  against  the  oppo 
nent  of  orthodoxy.  It  is  capable,  with  complete  compla 
cency,  of  defeating  every  effort  to  make  this  war  anything 
but  a  frightful  catastrophe  with  no  actual  moral  value.  It 
is  draped  in  all  sorts  of  flowing  sentimentalism;  and  be 
neath  that  drapery  is  a  hardness  and  selfishness  beyond 
belief. 

It  poisons  its  own  children  with  the  insidious  sense  of 
caste  —  of  the  low  value  of  real  work  and  the  high  value  of 
mental  dexterity  and  sleight-of-hand.  It  produces  mental 
invalids  full  of  the  immorality  of  self-pity  and  the  vulgarity 
of  parade. 

If  this  war  means  anything,  it  means  that  the  Topping- 
tons  of  this  country  will  be  left  by  the  tide,  and  will  dry  up, 
like  strangled  jelly-fish,  in  the  sun  of  a  new  adjustment  that 
will  appraise  people  according  to  their  actual  contribution 
to  the  wealth  and  welfare  of  the  nation. 


SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA1 

HENRY  SEIDEL  CANBY 

THE  Oriental  may  be  inscrutable,  but  he  is  no  more  puz 
zling  than  the  average  American.  We  admit  that  we  are 
hard,  keen,  practical,  —  the  adjectives  that  every  casual 
European  applies  to  us,  —  and  yet  any  book-store  window 
or  railway  news-stand  will  show  that  we  prefer  sentimental 
magazines  and  books.  Why  should  a  hard  race  —  if  we  are 
hard  —  read  soft  books? 

By  soft  hooks,  by  sentimental  books,  I  do  not  mean  only 
the  kind  of  literature  best  described  by  the  word  "squashy." 
I  doubt  whether  we  write  or  read  more  novels  and  short 
stories  of  the  tear-dripped  or  hyper-emotional  variety  than 
other  nations.  Germany  is  —  or  was  —  full  of  such  soft 
stuff.  It  is  highly  popular  in  France,  although  the  excellent 
taste  of  French  criticism  keeps  it  in  check.  Italian  popular 
literature  exudes  sentiment;  and  the  sale  of  "squashy"  fic 
tion  in  England  is  said  to  be  threatened  only  by  an  occa 
sional  importation  of  an  American  "best-seller."  WTe  have 
no  bad  eminence  here.  Sentimentalists  with  enlarged  hearts 
are  international  in  habitat,  although,  it  must  be  admitted, 
especially  popular  in  America. 

When  a  critic,  after  a  course  in  American  novels  and 
magazines,  declares  that  life,  as  it  appears  on  the  printed 
page  here,  is  fundamentally  sentimentalized,  he  goes  much 
deeper  than  "mushiness"  with  his  charge.  He  means,  I 
think,  that  there  is  an  alarming  tendency  in  American  fic 
tion  to  dodge  the  facts  of  life  —  or  to  pervert  them.  He 
means  that  in  most  popular  books  only  red-blooded, 

1  Reprinted  by  permission  of,  and  arrangement  with,  Henry  Seidel 
Canby. 


SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA  137 

optimistic  people  are  welcome.  He  means  that  material 
success,  physical  soundness,  and  the  gratification  of  the 
emotions  have  the  right  of  way.  He  means  that  men  and 
women  (except  the  comic  figures)  shall  be  presented,  not  as 
they  are,  but  as  we  should  like  to  have  them,  according  to 
a  judgment  tempered  by  nothing  more  searching  than  our 
experience  with  an  unusually  comfortable,  safe,  and  pros 
perous  mode  of  living.  Everyone  succeeds  in  American 
plays  and  stories  —  if  not  by  good  thinking,  why  then  by 
good  looks  or  good  luck.  A  curious  society  the  research 
student  of  a  later  date  might  make  of  it  —  an  upper  world 
of  the  colorless,  successful,  illustrated  by  chance-saved 
collar  advertisements  and  magazine  covers;  an  under  world 
of  grotesque  scamps,  clowns,  and  hyphenates  drawn  from 
the  comic  supplement;  and  all  —  red-blooded  hero  and 
modern  gargoyle  alike  —  always  in  good  humor. 

I  am  not  touching  in  this  picture  merely  to  attack  it.  It 
has  been  abundantly  attacked ;  what  it  needs  is  explanation. 
For  there  is  much  in  this  bourgeois,  good-humored  Amer 
ican  literature  of  ours  which  rings  true,  which  is  as  honest  an 
expression  of  our  individuality  as  was  the  more  austere 
product  of  ante-bellum  New  England.  If  American  senti 
mentality  does  invite  criticism,  American  sentiment  de 
serves  defense. 

Sentiment  —  the  response  of  the  emotions  to  the  appeal 
of  human  nature  —  is  cheap,  but  so  are  many  other  good 
things.  The  best  of  the  ancients  were  rich  in  it.  Homer's 
chieftains  wept  easily.  So  did  Shakespeare's  heroes.  Adam 
and  Eve  shed  "some  natural  tears"  when  they  left  the 
Paradise  which  Milton  imagined  for  them.  A  heart  acces 
sible  to  pathos,  to  natural  beauty,  to  religion,  was  a  chief 
requisite  for  the  protagonist  of  Victorian  literature.  Even 
Becky  Sharp  was  touched  —  once  —  by  Amelia's  moving 
distress. 


138  SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA 

Americans,  to  be  sure,  do  not  weep  easily;  but  if  they 
make  equivalent  responses  to  sentiment,  that  should  not  be 
held  against  them.  If  we  like  "sweet"  stories,  or  "strong  "  — 
which  means  emotional  —  stories,  our  taste  is  not  thereby 
proved  to  be  hopeless,  or  our  national  character  bad.  It 
is  better  to  be  creatures  of  even  sentimental  sentiment, 
with  the  author  of  "  The  Rosary,"  than  to  see  the  world  only 
as  it  is  portrayed  by  the  pens  of  Bernard  Shaw  and  Anatole 
France.  The  first  is  deplorable;  the  second  is  dangerous.  I 
should  deeply  regret  the  day  when  a  simple  story  of  honest 
American  manhood  winning  a  million  and  a  sparkling, 
piquant  sweetheart  lost  all  power  to  lull  my  critical  faculty 
and  warm  my  heart.  I  doubt  whether  any  literature  has 
ever  had  too  much  of  honest  sentiment. 

Good  Heavens!  Because  some  among  us  insist  that  the 
mystic  rose  of  the  emotions  shall  be  painted  a  brighter  pink 
than  nature  allows,  are  the  rest  to  forego  glamour?  Or 
because,  to  view  the  matter  differently,  psychology  has 
shown  what  happens  in  the  brain  when  a  man  falls  in  love, 
and  anthropology  has  traced  marriage  to  a  care  for  prop 
erty  rights,  are  we  to  suspect  the  idyllic  in  literature  wher 
ever  we  find  it?  Life  is  full  of  the  idyllic;  and  no  anthropolo 
gist  will  ever  persuade  the  reasonably  romantic  youth  that 
the  sweet  and  chivalrous  passion  which  leads  him  to  mingle 
reverence  with  desire  for  the  object  of  his  affections,  is 
nothing  but  an  idealized  property  sense.  Origins  explain 
very  little,  after  all.  The  bilious  critics  of  sentiment  in  lit 
erature  have  not  even  honest  science  behind  them. 

I  have  no  quarrel  with  traffickers  in  simple  emotion  — 
with  such  writers  as  James  Lane  Allen  and  James  Whit- 
comb  Riley,  for  example.  But  the  average  American  is  not 
content  with  such  sentiment  as  theirs.  He  wants  a  more 
intoxicating  brew  —  to  be  persuaded  that,  once  you  step 
beyond  your  own  experience,  feeling  rules  the  world.  He 


SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA  139 

wants  —  I  judge  by  what  he  reads  —  to  make  sentiment  at 
least  ninety  per  cent  efficient,  even  if  a  dream-America, 
superficially  resemblant  to  the  real,  but  far  different  in  tone, 
must  be  created  by  the  obedient  writer  in  order  to  satisfy 
him.  His  sentiment  has  frequently  to  be  sentimentalized 
before  he  will  pay  for  it.  And  to  this  fault,  which  he  shares 
with  other  modern  races,  he  adds  the  other  heinous  sin  of 
sentimentalism,  the  refusal  to  face  the  facts. 

This  sentimentalizing  of  reality  —  to  invent  a  term  —  is 
far  more  dangerous  than  the  romantic  sentimentalizing  of 
the  "squashy"  variety.  It  is  to  be  found  in  sex-stories, 
which  carefully  observe  decency  of  word  and  deed,  where 
the  conclusion  is  always  in  accord  with  conventional  moral 
ity,  yet  whose  characters  are  clearly  immoral,  indecent,  and 
would  so  display  themselves  if  the  tale  were  truly  told.  It  is 
to  be  found  in  stories  of  "big  business,"  where  trickery  and 
rascality  are  made  virtuous  at  the  end  by  sentimental  bap 
tism.  If  I  choose  for  the  hero  of  my  novel  a  director  in  an 
American  trust;  if  I  make  him  an  accomplice  in  certain  acts 
of  ruthless  economic  tyranny;  if  I  make  it  clear  that  at  first 
he  is  merely  subservient  to  a  stronger  will,  and  that  the  acts 
he  approves  are  in  complete  disaccord  with  his  private 
moral  code  —  why  then,  if  the  facts  should  be  dragged  to 
the  light,  if  he  is  made  to  realize  the  exact  nature  of  his 
career,  how  can  I  end  my  story?  It  is  evident  that  my  hero 
possesses  little  insight  and  less  firmness  of  character.  He  is 
not  a  hero ;  he  is  merely  a  tool.  In,  let  us  say,  eight  cases  out 
of  ten,  his  curve  is  already  plotted.  It  leads  downward  — 
not  necessarily  along  the  villain's  path,  but  toward  moral 
insignificance. 

And  yet,  I  cannot  end  my  story  that  way  for  Americans. 
There  must  be  a  grand  moral  revolt.  There  must  be  resist 
ance,  triumph,  and  not  only  spiritual,  but  also  financial  re 
covery.  And  this,  likewise,  is  sentimentality.  Even  Booth 


140  SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA 

Tarkington,  in  his  excellent  "Turmoil,"  had  to  dodge  the 
logical  issue  of  his  story;  had  to  make  his  hero  exchange  a 
practical  literary  idealism  for  a  very  impractical,  even 
though  a  commercial,  utopianism,  in  order  to  emerge  ap 
parently  successful  at  the  end  of  the  book.  A  story  such  as 
the  Danish  Nexo's  "Pelle  the  Conqueror,"  where  pathos 
and  the  idyllic,  each  intense,  each  beautiful,  are  made  con 
vincing  by  an  undeviating  truth  to  experience,  would  seem 
to  be  almost  impossible  of  production  just  now  in  America. 

It  is  not  enough  to  rail  at  this  false  fiction.  The  chief 
duty  of  criticism  is  to  explain.  The  best  corrective  of  bad 
writing  is  a  knowledge  of  why  it  is  bad.  We  get  the  fiction 
we  deserve,  precisely  as  we  get  the  government  we  deserve 
—  or  perhaps,  in  each  case,  a  little  better.  Why  are  we 
sentimental?  When  that  question  is  answered,  it  is  eas 
ier  to  understand  the  defects  and  the  virtues  of  American 
fiction.  And  the  answer  lies  in  the  traditional  American 
philosophy  of  life. 

To  say  that  the  American  is  an  idealist,  is  to  commit  a 
thoroughgoing  platitude.  Like  most  platitudes,  the  state 
ment  is  annoying  because,  from  one  point  of  view,  it  is  in 
disputably  just,  while  from  another  it  does  not  seem  to  fit 
the  facts.  With  regard  to  our  tradition,  it  is  indisputable. 
Of  the  immigrants  who  since  the  seventeenth  century  have 
been  pouring  into  this  continent,  a  portion  large  in  number, 
larger  still  in  influence,  has  been  possessed  of  motives  which, 
in  part  at  least,  were  idealistic.  If  it  was  not  the  desire  for 
religious  freedom  that  urged  them,  it  was  the  desire  for 
personal  freedom;  if  not  political  liberty,  why  then  eco 
nomic  liberty  (for  this  too  is  idealism), and  the  opportunity 
to  raise  the  standard  of  life.  And  of  course  all  these  motives 
were  strongest  in  that  earlier  immigration  which  has  done 
most  to  fix  the  state  of  mind  and  body  which  we  call  being 
American.  I  need  not  labor  the  argument.  Our  political 


SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA  141 

and  social  history  supports  it;  our  best  literature  demon 
strates  it;  for  no  men  have  been  more  idealistic  than  the 
American  writers  whom  we  have  consented  to  call  great. 
Emerson,  Thoreau,  Hawthorne,  Whitman  —  was  idealism 
ever  more  thoroughly  incarnate  than  in  them? 

And  this  idealism  —  to  risk  again  a  platitude  —  has  been 
in  the  air  of  America.  It  has  permeated  our  religious  sects, 
and  created  several  of  them.  It  has  given  tone  to  our  think 
ing,  and  even  more  to  our  feeling.  I  do  not  say  that  it  has 
always,  or  even  usually,  determined  our  actions,  although 
the  Civil  War  is  proof  of  its  power.  Again  and  again  it  has 
gone  aground  roughly  when  the  ideal  met  a  condition  of  liv 
ing  —  a  fact  that  will  provide  the  explanation  for  which  I 
seek.  But  optimism,  "boosting,"  muck-raking  (not  all  of 
its  manifestations  are  pretty),  social  service, religious,  muni 
cipal,  democratic  reform,  indeed  the  "uplift"  generally,  is 
evidence  of  the  vigor,  the  bumptiousness  of  the  inherited 
American  tendency  to  pursue  the  ideal.  No  one  can  doubt 
that  in  this  generation  we  believe,  at  least,  in  idealism. 

Nevertheless,  so  far  as  the  average  individual  is  con 
cerned,  with  just  his  share  and  no  more  of  the  race- 
tendency,  this  idealism  has  been  suppressed,  and  in  some 
measure  perverted.  It  is  this  which  explains,  I  think,  Amer 
ican  sentimentalism. 

Consider,  for  example,  the  ethics  of  conventional  Amer 
ican  society.  The  American  ethical  tradition  is  perfectly 
definite  and  tremendously  powerful.  It  belongs,  further 
more,  to  a  population  far  larger  than  the  "old  American" 
stock,  for  it  has  been  laboriously  inculcated  in  our  schools 
and  churches,  and  impressively  driven  home  by  newspaper, 
magazine,  and  book.  I  shall  not  presume  to  analyze  it  save 
where  it  touches  literature.  There  it  maintains  a  definite 
attitude  toward  all  sex-problems:  the  Victorian,  which  is 
not  necessarily,  or  even  probably,  a  bad  one.  Man  should 


142  SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA 

be  chaste,  and  proud  of  his  chastity.  Woman  must  be  so. 
It  is  the  ethical  duty  of  the  American  to  hate,  or  at  least  to 
despise,  all  deviations,  and  to  pretend  —  for  the  greater 
prestige  of  the  law  —  that  such  sinning  is  exceptional,  at 
least  in  America.  And  this  is  the  public  morality  he  believes 
in,  whatever  may  be  his  private  experience  in  actual  living. 
In  business,  it  is  the  ethical  tradition  of  the  American,  in 
herited  from  a  rigorous  Protestant  morality,  to  be  square, 
to  play  the  game  without  trickery,  to  fight  hard  but  never 
meanly.  Over-reaching  is  justifiable  when  the  other  fellow 
has  equal  opportunities  to  be  "smart";  lying,  tyranny  — 
never.  And  though  the  opposites  of  all  these  laudable  prac 
tices  come  to  pass,  he  must  frown  on  them  in  public,  deny 
their  Tightness  even  to  the  last  cock-crow  —  especially  in 
the  public  press. 

American  political  history  is  a  long  record  of  idealistic 
tendencies  toward  democracy,  working  painfully  through  a 
net  of  graft,  pettiness,  sectionalism,  and  bravado,  with  con 
stant  disappointment  for  the  idealist  who  believes,  tradi 
tionally,  in  the  intelligence  of  the  crowd.  American  social 
history  is  a  glaring  instance  of  how  the  theory  of  equal  dig 
nity  for  all  men  can  entangle  itself  with  caste  distinctions, 
snobbery,  and  the  power  of  wealth.  American  economic 
history  betrays  the  pioneer  helping  to  kick  down  the  ladder 
that  he  himself  had  raised  toward  equal  opportunity  for 
all.  American  literary  history  —  especially  contemporary 
literary  history  —  reflects  the  result  of  all  this  for  the 
American  mind.  The  sentimental  in  our  literature  is  a 
direct  consequence. 

The  disease  is  easily  acquired.  Mr.  Smith,  a  broker,  finds 
himself  in  an  environment  of  "schemes"  and  "deals"  in 
which  the  quality  of  mercy  is  strained,  and  the  wind  is  de 
cidedly  not  tempered  to  the  shorn  lamb.  After  all,  business 
is  business.  He  shrugs  his  shoulders  and  takes  his  part. 


SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA  143 

But  his  unexpended  fund  of  native  idealism  —  if,  as  is  most 
probable,  he  has  his  share  —  seeks  its  due  satisfaction.  He 
cannot  use  it  in  business;  so  he  takes  it  out  in  a  novel  or  a 
play  where,  quite  contrary  to  his  observed  experience,  ordi 
nary  people  like  himself  act  nobly,  with  a  success  that  is 
all  the  more  agreeable  for  being  unexpected.  His  wife,  a 
woman  with  strange  stirrings  about  her  heart,  with  motions 
toward  beauty,  and  desires  for  a  significant  life  and  rich, 
satisfying  experience,  exists  in  day-long  pettiness,  gossips, 
frivols,  scolds,  writh  money  enough  to  do  what  she  pleases, 
and  nothing  vital  to  do.  She  also  relieves  her  pent-up  ideal 
ism  in  plays  or  books  —  in  high-wrought,  "strong"  novels, 
not  in  adventures  in  society  such  as  the  kitchen  admires, 
but  in  stories  writh  violent  moral  and  emotional  crises, 
whose  characters,  no  matter  how  unlifelike,  have  "strong" 
thoughts,  and  make  vital  decisions;  succeed  or  fail  signifi 
cantly.  Her  brother,  the  head  of  a  wholesale  dry-goods 
firm,  listens  to  the  stories  the  drummers  bring  home  of  night 
life  on  the  road,  laughs,  says  to  himself  regretfully  that  the 
world  has  to  be  like  that;  and  then,  in  logical  reaction,  de 
mands  purity  and  nothing  but  aggressive  purity  in  the 
books  of  the  public  library. 

The  hard  man  goes  in  for  philanthropy  (never  before  so 
frequently  as  in  America);  the  one-time  "boss"  takes  to 
picture-collecting;  the  railroad  wrecker  gathers  rare  edi 
tions  of  the  Bible;  and  tens  of  thousands  of  humbler  Amer 
icans  carry  their  inherited  idealism  into  the  necessarily 
sordid  experiences  of  life  in  an  imperfectly  organized 
country,  suppress  it  for  fear  of  being  thought  "cranky"  or 
"soft,"  and  then,  in  their  imagination  and  all  that  feeds 
their  imagination,  give  it  vent.  You  may  watch  the  process 
any  evening  at  the  movies  or  the  melodrama,  on  the  trolley- 
car  or  in  the  easy  chair  at  home. 

This  philosophy  of  living,  which  I  have  called  American 


144  SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA 

idealism,  is  in  its  own  nature  sound,  as  is  proved  in  a  hun 
dred  directions  where  it  has  had  full  play.  Suppressed 
idealism,  like  any  other  suppressed  desire,  becomes  un 
sound.  One  does  not  have  to  follow  Freud  and  his  school 
into  their  sex-pathology  in  order  to  believe  that.  And  here 
lies  the  ultimate  cause  of  the  taste  for  sentimentalism  in  the 
American  bourgeoisie.  An  undue  insistence  upon  happy 
endings,  regardless  of  the  premises  of  the  story,  and  a  crav 
ing  for  optimism  everywhere,  anyhow,  are  sure  signs  of  a 
"morbid  complex,"  and  to  be  compared  with  some  justice 
to  the  craving  for  drugs  in  a  "  dry  "  town.  We  must  look  for 
psychological  as  well  as  economic  and  geographical  causes 
for  mental  peculiarities  exhibiting  themselves  in  literature. 
No  one  can  doubt  the  effect  of  the  suppression  by  the  Puri 
tan  discipline  of  that  instinctive  love  of  pleasure  and  lib 
eral  experience  common  to  us  all.  Its  unhealthy  reaction  is 
visible  in  every  old  American  community.  No  one  who  faces 
the  facts  can  deny  the  result  of  the  suppression  by  commer 
cial,  bourgeois,  prosperous  America  of  our  native  idealism. 
The  student  of  society  may  find  its  dire  effects  in  politics,  in 
religion,  and  in  social  intercourse.  The  critic  cannot  over 
look  them  in  literature;  for  it  is  in  the  realm  of  the  imagina 
tion  that  idealism,  direct  or  perverted,  does  its  best  or  its 
worst. 

Sentiment  is  not  perverted  idealism.  Sentiment  is  ideal 
ism  of  a  mild  and  not  too  masculine  variety.  If  it  has  sins, 
they  are  sins  of  omission,  not  commission.  Our  fondness 
for  sentiment  proves  that  our  idealism,  if  a  little  loose  in  the 
waist-band  and  puffy  in  the  cheeks,  is  still  hearty,  still  cap 
able  of  active  mobilization,  like  those  comfortable  French 
husbands  whose  plump  and  smiling  faces,  careless  of  glory, 
careless  of  everything  but  thrift  and  good  living,  are  never 
theless  figured  on  a  page  whose  superscription  reads,  "  Dead 
on  the  field  of  honor." 


SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA  145 

The  novels,  the  plays,  the  short  stories,  of  sentiment  may 
prefer  sweetness,  perhaps,  to  truth,  the  feminine  to  the 
masculine  virtues,  but  we  waste  ammunition  in  attacking 
them.  There  never  was,  I  suppose,  a  great  literature  of 
sentiment,  for  not  even  the  "  Sentimental  Journey  "is  truly 
great.  But  no  one  can  make  a  diet  exclusively  of  "noble" 
literature;  the  charming  has  its  own  cosy  corner  across  from 
the  tragic  (and  a  much  bigger  corner  at  that).  Our  un 
counted  amorists  of  tail-piece  song  and  illustrated  story 
provide  the  readiest  means  of  escape  from  the  somewhat 
uninspiring  life  that  most  men  and  women  are  living  just 
now  in  America. 

The  sentimental,  however,  —  whether  because  of  an 
excess  of  sentiment  softening  into  "slush,"  or  of  a  morbid 
optimism,  or  of  a  weak-eyed  distortion  of  the  facts  of  life, 
—  is  perverted.  It  needs  to  be  cured,  and  its  cure  is  more 
truth.  But  this  cure,  I  very  much  fear,  is  not  entirely,  or 
even  chiefly,  in  the  power  of  the  "regular  practitioner,"  the 
honest  writer.  He  can  be  honest;  but  if  he  is  much  more 
honest  than  his  readers,  they  will  not  read  him.  As  Profes 
sor  Lounsbury  once  said,  a  language  grows  corrupt  only 
when  its  speakers  grow  corrupt,  and  mends,  strengthens, 
and  becomes  pure  with  the'm.  So  with  literature.  We  shall 
have  less  sentimentality  in  American  literature  when  our 
accumulated  store  of  idealism  disappears  in  a  laxer  genera 
tion;  or  when  it  finds  due  vent  in  a  more  responsible,  less 
narrow,  less  monotonously  prosperous  life  than  is  lived  by 
the  average  reader  of  fiction  in  America.  I  would  rather  see 
our  literary  taste  damned  forever  than  have  the  first  alter 
native  become  —  as  it  has  not  yet  —  a  fact.  The  second,  in 
the  years  of  wrorld-war,  we  placed,  unwillingly,  perhaps  un 
consciously,  upon  the  knees  of  the  gods. 

All  this  must  not  be  taken  in  too  absolute  a  sense.  There 
are  medicines,  and  good  ones,  in  the  hands  of  writers  and  of 


146  SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA 

critics,  to  abate,  if  not  to  heal,  this  plague  of  sentiment alism. 
I  have  stated  ultimate  causes  only.  They  are  enough  to 
keep  the  mass  of  Americans  reading  sentimentalized  fiction 
until  some  fundamental  change  has  come,  not  strong  enough 
to  hold  back  the  van  of  American  writing,  which  is  steadily 
moving  toward  restraint,  sanity,  and  truth.  Every  honest 
composition  is  a  step  forward  in  the  cause;  and  every 
clear-minded  criticism. 

But  one  must  doubt  the  efficacy,  and  one  must  doubt  the 
healthiness,  of  reaction  into  cynicism  and  sophisticated 
cleverness.  There  are  curious  signs,  especially  in  what  we 
may  call  the  literature  of  New  York,  of  a  growing  sophis 
tication  that  sneers  at  sentiment  and  the  sentimental  alike. 
"Magazines  of  cleverness"  have  this  for  their  keynote, 
although  as  yet  the  satire  is  not  always  well  aimed.  There 
are  abundant  signs  that  the  generation  just  coming  for 
ward  will  rejoice  in  such  a  pose.  It  is  observable  now  in 
the  colleges,  where  the  young  literati  turn  up  their  noses 
at  everything  American,  —  magazines,  best-sellers,  or  one- 
hundred-night  plays,  —  and  resort  for  inspiration  to  the 
English  school  of  anti- Victorians :  to  Schnitzler  with  his 
brilliant  Viennese  cynicism;  less  commonly,  because  he  is 
more  subtle,  to  Anatole  France.  Their  pose  is  not  altogether 
to  be  blamed,  and  the  men  to  whom  they  resort  are  mod 
els  of  much  that  is  admirable;  but  there  is  little  promise 
for  American  literature  in  exotic  imitation.  To  see  our 
selves  prevailingly  as  others  see  us  may  be  good  for  mod 
esty,  but  does  not  lead  to  a  self-confident  native  art.  And 
it  is  a  dangerous  way  for  Americans  to  travel.  We  cannot 
afford  such  sophistication  yet.  The  English  wits  experi 
mented  with  cynicism:  in  the  court  of  Charles  II,  laughed 
at  blundering  Puritan  morality,  laughed  at  country  man 
ners,  and  were  whiffed  away  because  the  ideals  they  laughed 
at  were  better  than  their  own.  Idealism  is  not  funny, 


SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA  147 

however  censurable  its  excesses.  As  a  race  we  have  too 
much  sentiment  to  be  frightened  out  of  the  sentimental 
by  a  blase  cynicism.  ' 

At  first  glance  the  flood  of  moral  literature  now  upon  us 
— •  social-conscience  stories,  scientific  plays,  platitudinous 
"moralities "  that  tell  us  how  to  live  —  may  seem  to  be  an 
other  protest  against  sentimentalism.  And  that  the  French 
and  English  examples  have  been  so  warmly  welcomed  here 
may  seem  another  indication  of  a  reaction  on  our  part.  I 
refer  especially  to  those  "hard"  stories,  full  of  vengeful 
wrath,  full  of  warnings  for  the  race  that  dodges  the  facts  of 
life.  H.  G.  Wells  is  the  great  exemplar,  with  his  sociological 
studies  wrapped  in  description  and  tied  with  a  plot.  In  a 
sense,  such  stories  are  certainly  to  be  regarded  as  a  protest 
against  truth-dodging,  against  cheap  optimism,  against 
"  slacking,'*  whether  in  literature  or  in  life.  But  it  would  be 
equally  just  to  call  them  another  result  of  suppressed  ideal 
ism,  and  to  regard  their  popularity  in  America  as  proof  of 
the  argument  which  I  have  advanced  in  this  essay.  Exces 
sively  didactic  literature  is  often  a  little  unhealthy.  In 
fresh  periods,  when  life  runs  strong  and  both  ideals  and 
passions  find  ready  issue  into  life,  literature  has  no  burden 
some  moral  to  carry.  It  digests  its  moral.  Homer  digested 
his  morals.  They  transfuse  his  epics.  So  did  Shakespeare. 
His  world  is  predominantly  moral;  but  his  stories  are  not 
forged  into  machines  contrived  to  hammer  home  neglected 
truth. 

Not  so  with  the  writers  of  the  social-conscience  school. 
They  are  in  a  rage  over  wicked,  wasteful  man.  Their  novels 
are  bursted  notebooks  —  sometimes  neat  and  orderly  note 
books,  like  Mr.  Galsworthy's  or  our  own  Ernest  Poole's, 
sometimes  haphazard  ones,  like  those  of  Mr.  Wells,  but  al 
ways  explosive  with  reform.  These  gentlemen  know  very 
well  what  they  are  about,  especially  Mr.  Wells,  the  lesser 


148  SENTIMENTAL  AMERICA 

artist,  perhaps,  as  compared  with  Galsworthy,  but  the 
shrewder  and  possibly  the  greater  man.  The  very  senti 
mentalists,  who  go  to  novels  to  exercise  the  idealism  that 
they  cannot  use  in  life,  will  read  these  unsentimental  sto 
ries,  although  their  lazy  impulses  would  never  spur  them  on 
toward  any  truth  not  sweetened  by  a  tale. 

And  yet,  one  feels  that  the  social  attack  might  have  been 
more  convincing  if  free  from  its  compulsory  service  to  fic 
tion;  that  these  novels  and  plays  might  have  been  better 
literature  if  the  authors  did  not  study  life  in  order  that  they 
might  be  better  able  to  preach.  Wells  and  Galsworthy  also 
have  suffered  from  suppressed  idealism,  although  it  would 
be  unfair  to  say  that  perversion  was  the  result.  So  have  our 
muck-rakers,  who,  very  characteristically,  exhibit  the  dis 
order  in  a  more  complex  and  a  much  more  serious  form, 
since  to  a  distortion  of  facts  they  have  often  enough  added 
hypocrisy  and  commercialism.  It  is  part  of  the  price  we  pay 
for  being  sentimental. 

The  American  sentimentalists,  two  million  readers  strong, 
are  intrenched  behind  ramparts  of  indifference,  which  no 
shrapnel  fire  of  criticism  or  countermine  of  honest  writing 
can  ever  destroy.  We  can  take  a  trench  or  two,  blow  up 
some  particularly  obnoxious  citadel,  and  trouble  their  secu 
rity  by  exploding  bombs  of  truth;  but  defeat  must  come 
finally  from  within  their  own  lines. 

If  I  am  correct  in  my  analysis,  we  are  suffering  here  in 
America,  not  from  a  plague  of  bad  taste  merely,  nor  only 
from  a  lack  of  real  education  among  our  myriads  of  readers, 
nor  from  decadence  —  least  of  all,  this  last.  It  is  a  disease 
of  our  own  particular  virtue  which  has  infected  us  —  ideal 
ism,  suppressed  and  perverted.  A  less  commercial,  more 
responsible  America,  perhaps  a  less  prosperous  and  more 
spiritual  America,  will  hold  fast  to  its  sentiment,  but  be 
weaned  from  its  sentimentality. 


A  CRITICISM  OF  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

J.  N.  LARNED 

AMERICANS  have  taken  from  Englishmen  the  opinion 
that  two  political  parties,  in  contention  for  the  power  to 
make  and  administer  law  in  a  representative  democracy, 
produce  conditions  that  yield  a  better  average  of  govern 
ment  than  can  be  got  from  the  strifes  and  differences  of 
more  numerous  parties,  with  none  among  them  able  to  com 
mand  a  majority  of  the  popular  vote. 

For  this  conclusion  the  English  have  one  important  rea 
son  which  loses  weight  in  American  thought.  Their  form  of 
popular  government  is  an  evolutionary  product  of  two- 
party  conditions.  It  took  its  shaping  from  the  fact  that  two 
political  parties  had  been  alternating  in  the  control  of  the 
British  House  of  Commons  for  a  long  period  prior  to  the 
practical  withdrawal  of  administrative  prerogatives  from 
the  Crown  by  that  House.  This  has  been  the  fact,  indeed, 
since  English  parties  of  a  strictly  political  character  began 
to  exist;  and  it  gave  apparent  assurance  that  a  responsible 
ministerial  administration  of  government  erected  on  the 
support  of  a  majority  in  the  Commons  would  be  unlikely 
ever  to  lack  that  majority,  from  one  or  the  other  party,  for 
its  base.  It  was  an  assurance  that  held  good  for  about  a 
century  and  a  half.  Latterly  it  has  been  weakened,  and 
possibly  it  has  expired,  since  British  ministries  have  had  to 
obtain  their  executive  commission  from  a  coalition  of  par 
ties  quite  frequently  in  recent  years. 

In  this  country  the  conditions  are  very  different.  The 
architects  of  its  government,  not  attempting,  like  the  Eng 
lish,  to  join  the  facts  and  forces  of  a  republican  system  to 


150  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

the  theory  and  forms  of  an  hereditary  monarchy,  discarded 
the  latter,  creating  in  its  place  a  distinct  and  independent 
executive  authority,  which  passes  from  person  to  person  at 
fixed  times,  and  which  issues  from  the  people  directly.  By 
this,  and  by  further  provisions  in  our  Federal  Constitution 
relating  to  the  election  and  succession  of  our  presidents  and 
vice-presidents,  the  continuity  of  executive  authority  in  our 
government  is  made  secure.  No  dead-lock  of  factions  in 
Congress  can  cast  doubt  on  the  constitutional  authority  of 
the  President  to  administer  existing  law,  by  depriving  him 
of  a  supporting  majority  in  either  House,  or  in  both;  but  a 
British  ministry  in  the  same  situation  would  exercise  a 
questionable  and  much  weakened  authority,  though  it 
acted  under  the  commands  of  the  king.  Factious  divisions 
may  paralyze  legislation  as  mischievously  in  Congress  as  in 
Parliament;  but  such  paralysis  cannot  affect  administrative 
government  in  the  United  States,  as  it  may  affect  that  side 
of  British  government  in  some  conceivable  situations. 

The  most  important  of  English  considerations  in  favor  of 
two-party  politics  has,  therefore,  no  weight  for  us.  What 
others  do  we  find  to  persuade  us,  as  most  of  us  seem  to  be 
persuaded,  that  a  melee  of  parties,  in  the  French  and  Ger 
man  manner  of  politics,  would  bring  evils  on  us,  which  we 
must  take  care  to  avoid  by  keeping  ourselves  marshaled  as 
entirely  as  possible  in  two  great  opposing  hosts?  We  have 
had  long  experience  of  the  bipartite  organization  of  politics 
and  its  mighty  dueling;  and,  in  late  years  especially,  we 
have  been  attentive  observers  of  the  more  scrimmaging 
style  of  political  warfare  in  other  countries.  We  ought  to  be 
well  prepared  to  draw  evidence  from  both  and  weigh  it  in  a 
fair-minded  way.  The  present  writing  is  an  attempt  and  an 
invitation  to  treat  the  question  thus,  and  learn  perhaps  in 
doing  so  how  important  it  is. 

One  fact  which  stands  indisputably  to  the  credit  of  a  bi- 


A  CRITICISM  151 

sected  partisanship  in  politics  is  this :  the  whole  business  of 
government  is  simplified  and  made  easier  for  those  who  con 
duct  it,  when  all  differences  in  the  popular  will,  which  they 
are  expected  to  execute,  are  so  nearly  gathered  up  by  two 
agencies  of  organization  that  one  or  the  other  of  these  must 
be  able  to  confer  full  authority  at  any  given  time.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  the  ministry  which  takes  such  authority 
from  a  single  dominant  party  has  every  advantage,  —  of 
assured  tenure,  of  defined  policy,  of  confident  and  cour 
ageous  feeling,  —  over  any  ministry  which  acts  in  depen 
dence  on  some  precarious  combination  of  separately  power 
less  political  groups.  It  has  a  distinctly  mapped  course  to 
pursue.  Its  measures  are  substantially  fore-planned  for  it. 
It  knows  what  to  expect,  of  support  and  opposition  alike, 
and  its  measures  are  furthered  almost  as  much  by  the  con 
centred  organization  of  antagonisms  as  by  their  support. 
These  conditions  are  plainly  the  most  favorable  to  an  easy 
and  effective  working  of  the  apparatus  of  government;  and 
this  fact  is  decisive  of  the  question,  no  doubt,  in  the  judg 
ment  of  most  people  who  take  a  practical  part  in  political 
affairs. 

Such  a  judgment,  however,  surely  rests  on  inadequate 
grounds.  Something  more  than  ease  and  effectiveness  in  the 
working  of  government  demands  to  be  taken  into  account . 
The  quality  of  the  result  has  a  prior  claim  to  consideration ; 
and  results  accomplished  with  least  difficulty  and  most  fa 
cility  are  quite  likely  to  be  not  the  best.  For  this  reason  I 
suspect  that  the  school  of  practical  "politics "  does  not  give 
the  right  training  in  judgment  for  a  right  decision  of  this 
question  of  parties  in  government;  and  I  fear  that  prevail 
ing  views  on  the  question  have  come  mainly  from  that 
school. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  assured  support  in  measures  of 
government,  the  confident  feeling,  the  definite  programme, 


152  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

are  conducive  to  deliberate  and  judicious  action,  as  well  as 
to  ease  and  facility  in  it  —  which  is  true  in  theory,  and 
ought  to  be  true  always  in  fact;  but  the  same  conditions  are 
contributory  also  to  influences  on  political  action  which 
work  powerfully  against  its  fidelity  of  service  to  the  public 
good.  Many  motives,  both  noble  and  base,  from  the  purest 
in  altruism  to  the  meanest  in  selfishness,  may  inspire  the 
ambition  for  political  authority  and  power;  but  it  is  cer 
tain  that  the  lower  promptings  are  more  energetic  than  the 
higher,  and  prick  men  on  to  more  arduous  striving  for  the 
coveted  prize.  In  our  American  political  experience  there 
has  been  no  fact  more  glaringly  manifested  than  this,  unless 
it  is  the  fact  that  our  two-party  system  is  stimulating  and 
helpful  to  the  sordid  political  ambitions  and  discouraging 
to  the  nobler  aims. 

A  common  phrase  in  our  political  talk  and  writing  ex 
plains  why  this  is  so.  One  or  the  other  of  our  two  contend 
ing  parties  is  always  subject  to  description  as  "  the  party  in 
power."  The  power  of  government  is  always  the  power  of  a 
party,  shifted  to  and  fro  between  the  two  organizations  of 
political  rivalry  as  the  prize  of  a  lottery,  which  has  its 
annual,  biennial,  and  quadrennial  drawings  at  the  polls. 
For  a  given  term,  the  one  party  or  the  other  ordinarily  re 
ceives  complete  possession  of  that  tremendous  power,  to 
the  utmost  of  its  range.  It  is  power  to  make  and  administer 
law,  to  levy,  collect,  and  expend  public  revenues,  to  under 
take  and  carry  on  public  works,  to  hold  the  stewardship  of 
public  property,  to  grant  public  franchises,  to  fill  public 
offices,  to  distribute  public  employments  —  to  be,  in  fact, 
for  a  given  term,  the  public  of  cities,  of  states,  and  of  the 
great  nation,  in  all  the  handling  of  their  stupendous  cor 
porate  affairs.  To  obtain  a  realizing  conception  of  the  im 
mensity  of  power  which  this  involves,  and  of  the  diabolical 
temptations  and  invitations  it  offers,  not  only  to  conscious 


A  CRITICISM  153 

dishonesty,  but  to  selfishness  in  all  forms,  is  to  know  why 
our  politics  are  corrupted  as  they  are. 

By  giving  these  awful  masses  of  corrupting  opportunity 
always  into  the  possession  of  one  or  the  other  of  two  party 
organizations,  we  draw  what  is  corrupt  and  corruptible  in 
the  country  into  almost  irresistible  leagues  for  the  control 
ling  of  both.  Men  of  one  sort  are  induced  to  devote  their 
lives  to  the  practice  of  the  arts  of  political  engineering  which 
have  produced  the  "machine'*  organization  of  party  and 
brought  it  to  a  marvelous  perfection.  Men  of  another  sort 
are  made  willing  to  be  cogged  wheels  in  the  machine,  some 
as  congressmen,  some  as  state  legislators,  some  as  aldermen, 
some  as  executive  officials,  but  all,  on  their  appointed  axes, 
going  round  and  round  in  obedient  responsiveness  to  the 
hand  which  turns  the  mandatory  crank,  making  law,  en 
forcing  law,  or  stifling  law,  as  the  "boss"  commands. 

The  construction,  the  maintenance,  and  the  operation  of 
the  machine  are  attended  by  heavy  cost;  and  this  brings  a 
third  order  of  men  into  the  wide  circle  of  corruption  which 
it  spreads.  These  are  its  patrons  —  the  liberal  subscribers 
for  such  profitable  products,  of  legislation  from  one  hopper, 
of  chloroformed  law  from  another,  and  of  public  jobs  from 
a  third,  as  it  is  prepared  to  turn  out  on  demand.  They 
finance  the  expensive  "plants"  of  the  two  parties,  with  all 
their  advertising  shows  and  stage-plays  for  the  captivation 
of  weak-minded  voters,  and  they  receive  in  return  friendly 
statutes  and  tariffs,  and  public  franchises  and  contracts, 
and  official  connivances  and  negligences,  which  accomplish 
public  pocket-picking  on  the  biggest  conceivable  scale.  The 
total  result  is  a  state  of  rottenness  in  American  politics 
which  has  become  a  stench  in  the  nostrils  of  the  world. 

If  our  two  parties  represented  a  natural  bisection  of  politi 
cal  opinion  in  the  country,  such  effects  might  seem  curable; 
but  they  do  so  no  longer,  although  there  was  that  sponta- 


154  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

neous  cleavage  in  their  origin,  both  in  England  and  with  us. 
Parties  in  English  politics  had  their  rise  in  the  struggle  be 
tween  a  disfranchised  class  and  a  ruling  class,  and  that  was 
fought  to  its  practical  finish  forty  years  ago.  In  OUT  own 
case,  when  the  Federal  Union  took  form,  a  single  wide  cleft 
in  political  public  opinion  was  opened  by  the  conflict  be 
tween  national  and  provincial  trends  of  feeling,  producing 
the  Federal  and  Anti-Federal  parties  of  early  American  pol 
itics.  In  the  next  generation  that  contention  between 
nationalizing  policies  and  provincial  exaggerations  of  "state 
rights  "  ran  into  and  was  reinforced  by  the  sectional  slavery 
question,  prolonging  and  embittering  the  duel  of  parties 
until  it  culminated  in  the  sectional  Civil  War.  Both  of  the 
questions  at  issue  having  then  been  settled  by  a  judgment 
beyond  appeal,  a  decade  or  so  sufficed  for  the  practical 
clearing  from  our  politics  of  all  that  was  residual  from  the 
old  state  of  things,  and  we  entered  on  new  conditions,  which 
brought  new  problems  and  new  diversities  of  mind  into  our 
political  life. 

There  has  been  nothing  of  conflict  since,  in  actual  belief 
or  opinion,  that  could  carry  forward  the  old  division  of  par 
ties  on  one  continuous  line,  as  it  has  been  carried  to  the  pres 
ent  day.  On  the  first  large  general  question  that  arose, 
which  was  the  question  of  the  monetary  standard,  —  the 
"silver  question,"  —  there  was  so  little  intellectual  sincer 
ity  in  the  final  championship  of  the  gold  standard  by  the 
party  which  carried  it  into  law,  that  the  stand  of  that  party 
on  the  question  was  in  doubt  almost  till  the  opening  of  the 
decisive  campaign  of  1896.  On  each  side  of  the  question 
there  was  a  considerable  body  of  genuine  opinion;  but 
neither  side  of  that  opinion  was  coincident  with  either  side 
of  the  old  two-party  division  of  voters  in  the  nation.  Both 
of  the  old  parties  were  ruptured  temporarily  by  the  new 
issue,  which  carried  a  few  companies  of  recalcitrant  Demo- 


A  CRITICISM  155 

crats  into  independent  revolt  or  into  the  Republican  ranks, 
and  vice  versa;  but  the  greater  mass  of  the  combatants  in 
that  fight  had  the  banner  that  they  fought  under  deter 
mined  for  them,  primarily  by  the  cold  tactical  calculations 
of  party  leaders,  and  finally  by  the  sweep  of  that  blind  par 
tisan  spirit  —  that  unreasoning  vis  inertia?  of  human  tem 
per  which  keeps  men  running,  like  other  animals,  in  herds. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  what  we  mean  when  we 
speak  of  the  "party  spirit"  has  no  reference  to  any  motive 
that  is  inspired  by  an  object  —  a  belief,  a  social  interest,  a 
social  right  or  a  social  wrong  —  which  a  party  may  be 
formed  to  promote  or  resist,  but  is  the  fanatic  devotion 
which  seems  to  be  so  easily  diverted  to  the  party  itself,  as 
an  object  of  attachment  distinct  from  its  instrumental  use. 
There  have  been  times  and  occasions  when  this  motiveless 
zealotry  had  a  naked  exhibition,  divested  of  everything  in 
the  nature  of  a  rational  cause  —  originating,  even,  in  no 
more  than  a  color  or  a  name.  A  famous  instance  is  that  of 
the  factions  of  the  Roman  circus,  which  Gibbon  describes 
in  the  fortieth  chapter  of  the  "Decline  and  Fall."  Rightly 
considered,  the  lesson  to  be  taken  from  the  story  of  those 
factions,  which  arose  in  connection  with  the  colors  (white, 
red,  green,  and  blue)  of  the  liveries  worn  by  drivers  in  the 
Roman  chariot-races,  is  one  of  the  most  important  that 
history  affords. 

In  the  party  spirit  which  made  that  exhibition  (and  other 
exhibitions  hardly  less  puerile  and  revolting,  in  other  times 
and  places)  the  fundamental  quality  is  the  senselessness, 
the  objectless  inanity,  of  the  association  that  inspired  it. 
That,  in  fact,  is  what  constitutes  a  party  spirit,  whenever 
and  however  it  becomes  generated  in  a  party,  with  no  in 
spiration  from  a  cause  that  the  party  is  made  use  of  to  sup 
port.  Acting,  as  it  does,  with  the  weight  and  momentum  of 
a  mass  of  people,  and  with  utter  unreason,  this  motiveless 


156  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

zealotry  is  the  most  mischievous  of  all  the  mischief -makings 
that  have  come  from  empty  or  idle  human  brains.  Its 
malign  influence  in  history  has  actually  been  unequaled  by 
any  other.  More  or  less  it  has  perverted  all  human  associa 
tion,  especially  in  those  spheres  of  it  which  passion  can  most 
easily  invade.  Its  worst  workings  have  not  been  in  politics, 
but  in  the  religious  organizations  of  the  world.  It  may  be 
doubtful  whether  religious  or  political  divisions  have  been 
most  creative  of  this  senseless  party  spirit,  which  perverts 
the  rational  uses  of  party;  but  it  is  certain  that  religious 
contentions  have  enraged  it  most,  and  produced  the  most 
revolting  examples  of  its  malignant  power.  By  an  easy 
degradation,  the  religious  spirit  has  always  been  prone  to 
lapse  into  partisanship,  and  then  religious  and  political 
partisanships  have  sought  unions  that  begot  a  demonism  in 
humanity,  which  reveled  in  savage  tyrannies  and  horrible 
wars. 

Those  fiendishly  passionate  developments  of  the  party 
spirit  belong,  perhaps,  to  the  past,  and  illustrate  a  danger 
that  cannot  seem  imminent  at  the  present  day.  We  may 
reasonably  hope  that  our  social  growth  has  left  them  behind. 
But  no  human  disposition  so  insensate  can  be  tolerated  and 
cultivated,  as  this  continues  to  be,  without  immense  mis 
chiefs  of  some  nature  to  the  race.  If  mischiefs  from  its 
primitive  violence  are  disappearing,  the  very  narcotizing  of 
it  has  produced  equally  bad,  if  not  worse,  ones  of  paralysis, 
to  replace  them.  Now  it  is  threatening,  not  to  our  social 
peace,  but  to  the  vital  energies  in  our  social  life.  So  far  as  a 
sectarian  party  spirit  enters  the  churches,  it  deadens  the 
religious  spirit;  and  so  far  as  a  political  organization  is  held 
together  and  actuated  by  something  else  in  the  feeling  of  its 
members  than  an  earnestness  of  opinion  on  questions  of  the 
public  good,  it  is  infected  with  a  party  spirit  that  is  sure 
death  to  the  public  spirit  on  which  democracies  depend  as 


A  CRITICISM  157 

the  breath  of  their  life.  Who  can  doubt  that  such  an  infec 
tion  is  rank  in  both  of  the  alternative  parties  that  control 
American  politics  to-day?  Look  at  the  facts  of  their  history 
since  the  close  of  the  Civil  War! 

One  of  these  two  parties  came  out  of  that  war  much  in 
jured  in  credit  and  character;  the  other  with  an  immense 
prestige.  WThile  the  war  lasted,  the  supporting  of  the  gov 
ernment  was  a  duty  so  imperious  to  large  majorities  of  the 
people,  that  it  forbade  any  obstinacy  of  opposition  to 
measures  taken  in  the  conduct  of  the  war.  By  this  cause  the 
Republican  Party,  having  control  of  the  government,  ac 
quired  a  great  number  of  adherents  who  agreed  in  little  but 
their  common  determination  to  keep  the  Union  intact, 
with  no  concession  to  the  doctrines  that  had  set  secession 
and  rebellion  afoot.  By  the  same  cause  the  Democratic 
party,  in  critical  opposition  to  the  government,  drew  into 
its  membership  every  shade  of  opinion  that  was  weaker  in 
Unionism  or  sympathetic  with  the  secessionist  attack. 

Many  Republicans  of  that  period  were  intensely  opposed 
to  the  greenback  issue  of  legal-tender  paper  money,  which 
eased  the  financing  of  the  war  and  doubled  its  cost,  while 
enriching  a  few  by  inflated  prices  and  distressing  the  many. 
Other  Republicans  were  forced  to  grit  their  teeth  with 
anxiety  and  anger  as  they  watched  the  tariff-making  of  the 
war  years,  and  saw  pilfering  protective  duties  stealing  in 
under  cover  of  the  great  revenue  needs  of  the  time,  and  the 
industries  of  the  country  being  captured  by  monopolists, 
who  have  fattened  on  them  ever  since.  In  the  last  year  of 
the  war,  when  reconstruction  questions  were  rising,  a  prob 
able  majority  in  the  Republican  party  was  with  President 
Lincoln  in  opinions  opposed  to  the  entire  immediate  in 
corporation  of  the  whole  body  of  recent  slaves  in  the  voting 
constituency  of  the  states  to  be  reconstructed.  On  all  these 
points  of  public  policy,  especially  on  the  latter,  there  were 


158  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

thousands  in  the  Democratic  Party  who  held  precisely  the 
same  views.  The  ending  of  the  war  raised  these  matters  at 
once  to  an  importance  above  everything  else  in  national 
affairs,  and  every  rational  consideration  in  politics  made 
attention  to  the  treatment  of  them  the  foremost  duty  of  the 
time. 

Why,  then,  were  not  agreeing  citizens  brought  together, 
from  what  had  been  the  Republican  Party  and  the  Demo 
cratic  Party,  to  form  new  combinations  for  dealing  with  the 
issues  of  the  new  situation  —  the  questions  of  reconstruc 
tion,  of  protective  duties,  and  of  money?  A  simply  rational 
and  natural  instinct  in  politics  would  have  drawn  voters 
who  had  real  opinions  into  such  combinations,  in  order  to 
represent  themselves  effectively  in  Congress  on  one  or  more 
of  the  issues  that  appealed  to  them  most  strongly;  and  the 
result  would  undoubtedly  have  saved  the  country  from  two 
decades  or  more  of  drifting,  blundering,  unrighteous  legis 
lation,  which  enriched  a  class  at  the  expense  of  the  mass  and 
demoralized  American  life  in  a  hundred  ways.  What  pre 
vented,  of  course,  was  the  bondage  of  the  Anglo-American 
mind  to  the  inherited  two-party  idea  of  practical  politics, 
and  the  antagonism  of  party  spirit,  which  that  idea  pro 
motes  and  excites.  Even  the  few  Republicans  and  Demo 
crats  who  broke  away  from  their  respective  parties,  to  do 
battle  for  Lincoln's  reconstruction  policy,  or  for  sound 
money,  or  against  protective  tariffism,  —  even  those  few 
made  their  fight  as  guerrillas, "  mug- wumps,"  independents, 
—  and  attempted  no  party  organization.  The  general  body 
of  their  fellow  believers  stayed  with  the  old  banners,  expos 
tulating  loudly  from  time  to  time  against  the  roadways  of 
their  march,  and  suffering  a  succession  of  disgusts  as  they 
arrived  at  such  achievements  as  carpet-bag  government  in 
the  Southern  States,  Bland  and  Sherman  silver  bills,  Mc- 
Kinley  and  Dingley  tariffs,  and  the  like.  And  still,  to  this 


A  CRITICISM  159 

day,  the  columns  of  our  two-party  campaigning  are  sub 
stantially  unbroken,  and  men  who  agree  in  opinion  on  the 
greater  matters  of  public  concern  are  facing  one  another  in 
antagonistic  organizations,  instead  of  standing  shoulder  to 
shoulder  for  some  effective  promotion  of  their  beliefs. 

Of  course,  no  effective  expression  of  public  opinion  on  any 
question  of  public  policy,  or  any  principle  of  right,  is  possi 
ble  under  conditions  like  these;  and  what  must  be  the  effect 
on  the  political  attitude  of  the  citizen-mind,  —  on  its 
thoughtful  interest  in  public  questions,  and  on  the  intelli 
gent  sincerity  of  action  inspired  by  it,  —  when  the  expres 
sion  of  political  opinion  is  so  hampered  or  suppressed?  Un 
questionably  the  effect  has  been,  and  is  increasingly,  to 
deaden  public  opinion  as  a  political  force,  and  to  engender 
the  senseless  party  spirit  in  its  place. 

In  the  presidential  election  of  1908,  the  pronouncements 
of  purpose  and  promised  policy  by  the  two  chief  parties,  on 
all  questions  brought  forward  in  the  canvass,  were  substan 
tially  and  practically  the  same.  On  the  regulation  of  inter 
state  railway  traffic  and  of  so-called  trusts;  on  tariff  revi 
sion;  on  currency  reform;  on  questions  between  labor  and 
capital;  on  the  conservation  of  natural  resources  and  the 
improvement  of  the  waterways  of  the  country,  there  was  no 
difference  of  material  import  in  what  was  proposed.  Both 
parties  contemplated  some  prolongation  of  American  rule 
in  the  Philippines,  with  ultimate  independence  of  the  islands 
in  view,  and  disagreed  only  as  to  making  or  not  making 
their  ultimate  independence  the  subject  of  an  immediate 
pledge.  Actually  nothing  of  conflict  in  the  principles  or 
projects  of  policy  set  forth  by  these  two  parties  could  make 
the  choice  between  them  a  matter  of  grave  importance  to 
any  citizen  when  he  cast  his  vote.  It  was  manifest  that  they 
existed  no  longer  as  organizations  of  opposing  opinion,  but 
had  degenerated  into  competing  syndicates  for  the  capture 


160  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

of  political  power.  Thus  the  citizen  who  exercised  a  thought 
ful  judgment  on  the  public  questions  of  the  day  was  actu 
ally  driven  to  determine  his  vote,  as  between  these  parties 
(one  or  the  other  of  which  would  inevitably  be  "the  party 
inf  power"),  by|something  else  than  that  judgment;  by 
something  of  a  feeling  that  grows  easily  into  the  mischiev 
ous  spirit  that  finally  cares  for  nothing  in  politics  but  the 
party  and  the  party's  success. 

The  minor  parties  in  our  politics,  —  Prohibitionist, 
Socialist,  Populist,  —  which  justify  their  existence  by  spe 
cial  aims,  are  respectable  as  parties  because  consistently 
formed  and  coherent  by  the  force  of  real  motives  of  union; 
but  they  promise  no  disturbance  of  the  demoralizing  cer 
tainty,  in  every  election,  that  undivided  power,  of  legisla 
tion  or  administration  or  both,  will  go  to  one  or  the  other 
team  of  the  professional  players  in  the  two-party  game. 

What,  then,  could  be  thinner  and  poorer  than  the  exhibi 
tion  that  we  make  now  in  our  politics?  Our  parties  mean  so 
little;  represent  so  faintly  and  vaguely  the  public  mind; 
offer  so  little  invitation  or  stimulation  to  thought  on  public 
questions  and  to  well-considered  action  in  politics;  furnish 
so  perverted  an  agency  for  receiving  and  executing  any 
mandate  from  the  people !  Is  it  not  time  to  reconsider  our 
traditional  belief  in  the  two-party  organization  of  politics, 
and  question  whether  something  that  would  be  better  in 
the  whole  effect  might  not,  after  all,  be  obtained  from  a 
structure  of  parties  more  flexible  than  in  the  pattern  that 
England  gave  us? 

The  natural  cleavage  between  conservative  and  pro 
gressive,  or  liberal,  opinion,  which  originated  the  two-party 
division  in  English  and  American  politics,  gave  origin,  like 
wise,  to  the  more  numerous  political  parties  of  the  Euro 
pean  continent.  But,  while  Englishmen  and  Americans 
have  made  one  mixture  of  all  tinctures  of  conservative  polit- 


A  CRITICISM  161 

ical  opinion,  and  another  mixture  of  all  degrees  of  progres 
sive  liberality,  the  French,  German,  and  other  Europeans, 
have  not  been  satisfied  with  so  crude  and  careless  a  lumping 
of  their  differences  of  judgment  on  public  questions,  but 
have  subdivided  their  main  divisions  of  party  in  a  rational 
and,  we  may  say,  a  scientific  way.  After  entering  upon  an 
experience  of  representative  government,  they  soon  discov 
ered  that  moderate  and  extreme  dispositions,  whether  con 
servative  or  progressive,  may  separate  men  by  wider 
differences  of  view  than  arise  between  the  moderately  con 
servative  and  the  moderately  progressive  man;  and  that 
there  is  a  considerable  breadth  of  ground  within  the  range 
of  the  latter's  differences,  on  which  men  from  both  sides  can 
act  together  more  effectively  for  what  they  desire  in  gov 
ernment  than  by  action  on  either  side  of  the  prime  division. 
Recognition  of  this  fact  tends  naturally  to  the  formation 
of  at  least  three  parties  of  a  comprehensive  character  (not 
limited,  that  is,  to  single  specific  objects),  namely:  one  on 
the  conservative  slope  of  opinion,  one  on  the  progressive, 
and  a  third  on  an  area  between  these. 

This  was  so  natural  an  organization  of  politics  that  the 
continental  Europeans,  coming  into  the  enjoyment  of  repre 
sentative  institutions  much  later  than  the  English,  fell  into 
it  as  if  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done;  and  in  the  seating 
of  their  legislatures  they  found  a  natural  name  for  the 
natural  parties  that  took  form.  According  to  the  places  in 
which  the  parties  became  grouped,  at  the  right  or  the  left  of 
the  presiding  officer's  chair,  or  in  front  of  it,  they  came  to  be 
known  as  the  party  of  the  Right,  the  party  of  the  Left,  the 
party  of  the  Centre;  or  simply  the  Right,  the  Left,  and  the 
Centre.  Generally,  at  the  outset  of  the  introduction  of  par 
liamentary  institutions  on  the  Continent,  conservative 
opinion  had  the  strongest  representation  in  the  legislative 
bodies,  and  its  deputies  took  the  seats  that  gave  them  the 
12 


162  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

name  of  the  Right.  The  naming  then  established  became 
fixed  in  European  use. 

For  the  simple  politics  of  the  Swiss  Republic  the  three 
parties  of  this  most  natural  division  —  Right,  Left,  and 
Centre  —  have  sufficed  for  many  years.  In  most  countries 
of  Europe,  however,  the  Right  and  Left  parties,  especially 
the  latter,  are  subject  to  fissures  that  produce  Right  Centre 
and  Left  Centre  parties,  and  frequently  others,  taking 
different  names,  with  branchings,  moreover,  on  the  Left,  of 
parties  like  the  Socialist,  which  acknowledge  no  fundamen 
tal  relationship  with  parties  on  that  side,  but  stand  on 
ground  of  their  own.  No  doubt  this  segmentation  of  parties 
has  been  practiced  excessively  in  Latin  and  German  coun 
tries,  and  has  been  often  troublesome  in  the  conduct  of  gov 
ernment;  but  the  question  to  be  considered  is,  whether  the 
transient  difficulties  so  caused  have  ever  been  comparable 
in  seriousness  with  the  deep-seated  evils  that  arise  in  our 
politics  from  the  hard-and-fast  crystallization  of  our  two 
historic  parties,  and  the  fixed  fact  that  one  or  the  other  will 
always  win  the  corrupting  prize  of  power. 

Experience  of  a  systematically  representative  govern 
ment  was  opened  in  France  in  1876,  when  the  Constitution 
of  the  Third  Republic  went  into  effect.  The  first  elections 
to  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  gave  the  supporters  of  this 
republican  Constitution  great  majorities;  against  hostile 
Bonapartists,  Bourbon  monarchists,  and  anarchists;  but 
the  presidency  had  been  filled  by  previous  election  in  the 
National  Assembly,  and  Marshal  MacMahon,  who  occu 
pied  it,  was  extremely  anti-republican  in  his  views.  Discord 
between  the  majority  in  the  Chamber  and  the  ministries 
selected  by  the  President  was  inevitable,  and  it  resulted  in 
the  resignation  of  MacMahon  at  the  end  of  January,  1879. 
The  Republicans,  however,  were  far  from  forming  a  com 
pact  political  party.  Their  deputies  were  divided  into  so 


A  CRITICISM  163 

many  groups  or  varieties,  that  Dr.  Lowell,  in  his  account  of 
"  Goverment  and  Parties  in  Continental  Europe"  mentions 
only  five  of  "the  most  important,"  which  bore  the  follow 
ing  names :  Left  Centre,  Republican  Left,  Republican  Union, 
Radical  Left,  and  Extreme  Left.  The  group  which  called 
itself  Republican  Union,  headed  by  Gambetta,  though  it 
was  not  a  majority  of  the  Chamber  in  its  own  numbers,  yet 
exercised  a  practical  dominance,  which  it  maintained  for  a 
number  of  years. 

Considering  the  formidable  difficulties  that  attended  the 
establishing  of  republican  government  in  France,  from  roy 
alist  and  imperialist  antagonisms,  from  the  originally  open 
hostility  of  Rome,  from  the  discouraging  memory  of  two 
failures  in  the  past,  from  the  recent  loss  of  national  prestige, 
and  from  ever-impending  dangers  in  the  feeling  between 
Germany  and  France  —  have  we  any  good  reason  for  sup 
posing  that  a  two-party  organization  in  the  conflicts  in 
volved  would  have  brought  the  country  through  them  with 
better  success?  The  same  generation  that  suffered  the 
crushing  downfall  of  the  Second  Empire,  and  had  reason  for 
well-nigh  despairing  of  France,  has  been  able  to  found  and 
build  on  that  great  ruin  a  well-ordered  radical  democracy, 
and  make  it  one  of  the  substantial  political  powers  of  the 
world.  At  the  same  time,  however,  these  people  have  not 
hesitated  to  take  up,  and  apparently  to  give  a  lasting  treat 
ment  to,  such  hazardous  undertakings  as  the  secularizing  of 
public  education,  the  separation  of  the  State  from  an 
anciently  established  Church,  and  the  subjection  of  its  reli 
gious  orders  and  societies  to  civil  law. 

What  greater  achievements  in  the  workmanship  of  poli 
tics  has  our  time  produced?  And  what  other  country  in  our 
generation  has  suffered  tribulations  so  many  and  so  dis 
tracting  as  the  workers  at  these  formidable  tasks  have  been 
tormented  by  meanwhile?  When  I  call  to  mind  the  Bou- 


164  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

langer  intoxication,  the  Panama  Canal  failure  and  its  scan 
dals,  the  madness  of  the  Dreyfus  iniquity,  the  Morocco 
trouble,  and  the  almost  paralyzing  strike  of  postal  and  tele 
graph  employees,  the  safe  passing  of  the  French  democracy 
through  all  these  merciless  testings,  in  the  period  of  its  or 
ganization  and  schooling,  claims  my  wondering  admiration. 

In  the  corresponding  period  what  do  we  show  of  political 
achievement  that  will  make  good  any  boast  of  a  better 
working  of  government  under  the  two-party  organization 
of  our  democracy?  A  few  years  prior  to  the  undertaking  of 
republican  government  in  France  we  passed,  as  a  nation, 
through  the  greatest  of  our  trials,  when,  at  stupendous  cost 
of  life  and  suffering,  we  rescued  our  Federal  Union  from 
rupture,  and  then  applied  ourselves  to  the  reconstruction  of 
society  and  government  in  eleven  shattered  states.  I  have 
alluded  already  to  the  fact  that  a  probable  majority  of  the 
party  then  all-powerful  in  possession  of  the  government 
was  favorable  to  the  policy  of  reconstruction  which  Presi 
dent  Lincoln  had  begun  to  carry  out  before  his  death.  By 
the  loss  of  his  sane  influence  and  by  the  passions  which  his 
murder  excited,  an  ascendency  in  the  party  was  transferred 
suddenly  to  its  radical  and  vindictive  minds  and  tempers, 
and  the  party  as  a  whole  (or  nearly  so),  with  its  whole  irre 
sistible  power,  was  swept  by  them  into  their  recklessness  of 
dealing  with  these  gravest  problems  of  our  history.  It  was 
so  swept  by  the  habit  of  solidified  party  action  (dignified  in 
our  talk  of  it  as  "loyalty"  to  party)  which  is  cultivated  and 
educated  in  us  by  the  two-party  prejudice  of  our  minds. 

Suppose  that  we  had  been  habituated  in  that  period  to 
the  more  natural  three-party  division  of  opinion  and  dis 
position,  —  wjth  or  without  subdivisions,  —  and  accus 
tomed  to  the  organized  occupation  of  a  middle  ground  in 
our  politics,  —  the  ground  for  a  "Right  Centre"  and  a 
"Left  Centre,"  —  where  moderate  Republicans  and  mod- 


A  CRITICISM  165 

erate  Democrats  would  be  in  readiness  at  all  times  to  throw 
the  weight  of  their  moderation  against  extremes  of  action 
on  either  side!  Can  anyone  doubt  that  a  much  saner  and 
more  effective  reconstruction  would  have  been  given  to  the 
states  disordered  by  rebellion?  that  they  would  have  been 
spared  the  abominations  of  the  "carpet-bag"  regime,  and 
the  nation  spared  the  shame  of  it?  that  race  antagonism  in 
those  states  would  not  have  been  what  it  is,  and  that  the 
condition  and  prospects  of  their  colored  population  would 
have  been  infinitely  better  to-day? 

Apply  the  surmise,  again,  to  the  treatment  in  our  politics 
of  those  most  vital  of  economic  questions,  the  questions  of 
tariff!  There  have  always  been  three  attitudes  of  people 
on  this  subject:  one  proceeding  from  opinion  formed  in 
telligently,  by  study  and  thought;  another  from  opinion 
adopted  carelessly,  without  knowledge;  the  third  from  dic 
tation  of  self -interests,  considered  alone.  As  these  have  been 
mixed  and  lumped  in  both  of  our  parties,  by  strains  of  party 
influence  which  obscured  the  subject,  no  fair  opportunity 
has  been  afforded  for  the  instructing  of  ignorance  or  for  the 
combating  of  selfishness  in  dealing  with  the  matter.  Is  it 
not  more  than  probable  that  such  subsidiary  groupings  in 
party  organization  as  European  constituencies  have  found 
practicable  would  have  given  many  more  openings  to  such 
opportunity,  and  would  have  saved  us  from  some,  at  least, 
of  the  oppressive  tribute  which  protected  greed,  helped  by 
ignorance  and  thoughtlessness,  has  been  able  to  levy  on  us 
for  scores  of  years? 

To  my  mind  it  appears  more  than  probable  that,  in  the 
treatment  of  all  serious  situations  and  all  questions  of  high 
importance,  we  should  fare  better  if  no  single  organization 
of  party  could  always,  as  a  rule,  control  the  determination 
of  them.  Ordinary  legislation  need  not  be  rendered  more 
difficult  by  some  articulation  of  our  political  parties  in  the 


166  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

European  manner,  requiring  majorities  in  legislative  bodies 
to  be  made  up  and  handled  in  two  or  three  sections,  and  not 
in  a  ready-made,  unchangeable  mass.  If  agreement  on  the 
graver  matters  became  slower  of  attainment  and  less  easy, 
it  could  not  often  fail  to  be  made  wiser  and  more  just  by  the 
disputation  through  which  it  came.  Admit  everything  of 
hindrance  and  inconvenience  in  government  that  can  be 
charged  against  that  rational  articulation  of  parties,  and 
what  force  can  we  feel  in  it,  as  against  the  intolerable  evils 
which  our  contrary  practice  has  brought  upon  us?  That 
the  worst  of  those  evils  are  not  curable  without  some  loosen 
ing  of  the  rigidity  of  our  two-party  organizations  is  the 
conclusion  to  which  I  am  driven.  Briefly,  let  me  rehearse 
the  reasons  for  this  conclusion :  — 

1.  A  serviceable  expression  of  public  opinion  in  politics 
through  no  more  than  two  organs  of  its  collected  utterance 
is  possible  only  when  some  single  question,  or  group  of  re 
lated  questions,  is  overriding  all  others  in  the  general  mind. 
In  common  circumstances  the  citizen  who  tries  to  exercise 
an  intelligent  and  useful  judgment  in  his  political  action 
needs  more  latitude  of  choice  than  between  the  two  cate 
gories  of  collective  opinion,  on  everything  in  public  affairs, 
which  two  rival  parties  put  forth.  By  voting  with  one  or  the 
other  of  these  parties,  he  represents  himself  in  government 
as  a  full  indorser  of  all  that  its  category  declares,  and  he  is 
fortunate,  indeed,  if  his  vote  does  not  falsify  half  of  his 
judgments  and  beliefs.  Of  course,  there  is  no  practicable 
organization  of  political  opinion,  for  collective  expression, 
that  will  avoid  some  considerable  compromise  and  sacrifice 
of  personal  judgments  by  every  citizen;  but  our  system  im 
poses  the  maximum  of  falsification  on  our  suffrages,  instead 
of  the  least.  How  much  this  causes  of  depression  and  weak 
ening  in  the  political  working  of  large  classes  of  minds  — 
on  the  activity  of  their  interest  in  public  matters,  on  the 


A  CRITICISM  167 

earnestness  of  their  convictions,  and  on  the  vigor  of  the  ex 
pression  given  to  them  —  cannot  be  known;  but  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  the  effect  goes  seriously  deep. 

2.  By  so  organizing  our  political  action  that  the  whole 
power  of  government,  with  all  that  it  carries  of  stupendous 
opportunity  for  nefarious  private  gain  at  public  expense, 
must  go  undividedly  to  one  or  the  other  of  two  lastingly 
established  parties,  we  make  it  inevitable  that  irresistible 
leagues  of  self-seekers  will  acquire  control  of  those  parties, 
with  nefarious  designs.  Such  control  is  always  made  visible 
to  us  in  the  perfected  machination  of  our  party  organiza 
tions.  We  shall  never  make  them  otherwise  than  machines 
until  the  corrupting  opportunities  they  offer  for  exploita 
tion  are  minimized  by  some  disintegration  of  the  power  now 
solidified  in  them. 

3.  Nothing  effective  to  this  end  is  accomplished  simply 
by  independent  voting,  because  the  weight  of  the  inde 
pendent  vote  has  to  go,  just  as  the  partisan  vote  goes,  to  the 
tipping,  one  way  or  the  other,  of  the  two-party  beam.  The 
better  motive  in  it  can  often  improve  immediate  results.  It 
can  menace,  admonish,  rebuke,  one  or  the  other  of  the  oli 
garchies  of  party  at  a  given  election.  In  this  way  it  is  of  ex 
cellent  occasional  service,  in  improving  nominations  for 
office  and  in  securing  an  election  of  the  better;  but  it  can 
never   advance  us  by  a  step   toward  escape  from   that 
which  makes  machines  of  our  political  parties,  to  hold  them 
down  to  two  in  number,  with  the  guaranteed  prize  of  all 
governmental  power  to  be  striven  for  between  them,  and 
with  every  possible  motive  for  the  selfish  and  unscrupulous 
use  of  that  power  invited  into  combinations  for  handling  it. 

4.  As  the  focal  points  of  political  organization  are  neces 
sarily  in  cities,  it  is  there,  naturally,  in  American  municipal 
government,  that  our  two-party  system  of  politics  shows  its 
working  most  flagrantly  to  our  shame.  Municipal  govern- 


168  TWO-PARTY  POLITICS 

ment  is,  therefore,  the  present  subject  of  our  most  earnest 
undertakings  of  political  reform.  We  are  making  great 
endeavors  to  create  something  in  the  nature  of  municipal 
politics,  distinct  from  and  independent  of  the  two-party 
national  politics,  in  order  that  some  degree  of  home  rule 
may  be  realized,  and  local  interests  may  have  some  measure 
of  consideration  in  the  treatment  of  local  affairs.  But  what 
reasonable  hope  can  we  entertain  of  success  in  this  endeavor, 
so  long  as  the  two-party  organization  is  what  it  is,  and  the 
cities  are  the  inevitable  seats  of  its  management;  where  its 
mastery  of  the  agencies  of  political  action  are  most  easily 
exercised,  and  where  the  interested  influences  that  work  for 
it  and  with  it  have  likewise  their  principal  seats? 

In  England,  the  showing  of  effects  in  municipal  govern 
ment  from  these  causes  is  becoming  the  same  as  in  the 
United  States.  Ever  since  Parliament  became  democra 
tized  by  successive  extensions  of  the  popular  suffrage,  in 
1867  and  1884,  the  organizations  of  the  two  dominating 
parties  have  been  growing  steadily  machine-like,  taking  on 
the  structure  and  character  of  our  own;  and  with  equal 
steadiness  the  municipalities  have  been  falling  under  their 
control.  M.  Ostrogorsky  bears  witness  to  these  facts,  in  his 
remarkably  thorough  study  of  "Democracy  and  the  Organi 
zation  of  Political  Parties,"  published  in  1902.  He  wrote 
then  of  English  municipal  politics:  "There  already  appears 
a  general  phenomenon,  .  .  .  the  indifference  to  municipal 
matters  which  is  growing  up  among  the  citizens.  They 
inevitably  leave  the  burden  of  their  duty  to  the  common 
weal  to  be  borne  by  the  political  parties  who  have  monopo 
lized  local  public  life.  .  .  .  The  first  effect  of  this  state  of 
things  is  strikingly  manifested  in  the  decline  of  the  intellec 
tual  and,  to  some  extent,  moral  standard  of  the  personnel 
of  the  town  councils.  .  .  .  Devotion  to  the  party  being, 
under  the  Birmingham  system  [of  party  organization],  the 


A  CRITICISM  169 

first  qualification  for  admission  to  honors,  it  inevitably 
became  before  long  the  principal  condition  of  such  admis 
sion.  .  .  .  On  the  occasion  of  my  first  tour  in  the  prov 
inces  [in  1889]  I  pretty  often  heard  it  said  that  'good  men* 
(the  Tories  said  *  gentlemen ')  would  not  stand  for  the  town 
council;  but  on  visiting  the  same  towns  after  an  interval  of 
six  years  I  was  much  struck  by  the  tone  of  melancholy  and 
sometimes  of  exasperation  in  which  the  effects  of  the  intro 
duction  of  politics  into  municipal  affairs  were  spoken  of." 

5.  Through  every  influence  it  exerts,  the  two-party  sys 
tem  is  weakening  or  vitiating  the  public  opinion  and  the 
public  spirit  which  are  the  vitalizing  forces  in  democracy, 
and  lending  itself  powerfully  to  a  substitution  of  the  purely 
partisan  spirit,  which  all  history  has  proved  to  be  the  most 
pestilent  by  which  human  society  can  be  infected. 

Our  bondage  to  the  inexorable  old  system  has  been  re 
lentless  for  so  many  generations  that  release  from  it  had 
seemed  impossible  until  a  little  time  ago,  when  Western 
"insurgency"  showed  its  head.  Now  there  appear  some 
glimmerings  of  encouragement  of  the  hope  that  our  politics 
may  yet  develop  a  Centre,  with  its  Right  and  Left  wings, 
disjomtable  from  necessary  connection  with  the  extremes  of 
Right  and  Left. 


THE  VALUE   OF   EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

CHAKLES  NORMAN  FAY 

DURING  the  thirty  years  from  1879  to  1909  I  was  at  the 
head  successively  of  several  corporations  employing  from 
two  hundred  to  two  thousand  working  people.  Like  most 
believers  in  democracy,  I  originally  believed  also  in  the  or 
ganization  of  labor;  in  the  right  of  the  working  men,  singly 
weak,  to  strengthen  themselves  by  union  in  any  honest 
effort  for  their  own  betterment.  I  believed  that  organiza 
tion,  bringing  to  the  front  the  ablest  minds  among  their 
number,  would  tend  to  educate  the  working  people  in  the 
economics  of  labor,  to  their  own  good  and  that  of  the  com 
munity.  Results,  however,  have  been  disappointing.  The 
management  of  trade  unions  appears  to  have  become  like 
that  of  city  politics  —  an  affair  of  personal  self-interest 
rather  than  of  the  public  good.  This  conclusion  is  drawn 
from  various  personal  experiences,  and  from  public  docu 
ments  to  which  I  shall  hereafter  refer. 

I  came  into  contact  with  organized  labor  when,  about 
1899,  a  small  typewriter  factory  in  Chicago  which  I  con 
trolled,  employing  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  joined 
the  National  Association  of  Manufacturers,  consisting  of 
over  three  thousand  of  the  largest  employers  in  the  United 
States.  At  the  moment  I  found  its  attention  preoccupied 
with  the  matter  of  union  labor.  A  great  dread  of  labor- 
unions  swept  over  employers  about  1900,  and  the  National 
Association  of  Manufacturers,  the  Anti-Boycott  Associa 
tion,  the  Metal  Trades'  Association,  the  Typothetse,  and 
many  local  associations  were  formed,  largely  for  the  pur 
pose  of  defense.  Labor  conditions  grew  worse;  strikes, 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      171 

original  and  sympathetic,  multiplied,  until  many  employers 
moved  their  works  out  of  the  city,  and  many  others,  includ 
ing  our  concern,  opened  negotiations  with  various  country 
towns  for  removal  thither.  We  joined  the  Anti-Boycott 
Association  about  1901,  and  I  became  a  member  of  the 
committee  in  charge  of  the  litigation  begun  by  this  associa 
tion  in  the  Chicago  courts.  I  was  made,  about  the  same 
time,  the  vice-president  for  Illinois  of  the  National  Associa 
tion  of  Manufacturers,  and  subsequently  the  chairman  of 
its  special  committee  on  strike  insurance. 

My  company's  factory  was  unionized  in  1903,  for  the 
first  time  in  its  nine  years  of  existence,  and  forthwith  was 
"struck"  by  six  unions  affiliated  with  the  Chicago  Federa 
tion  of  Labor.  The  union  demands  included  an  eight-hour 
day  instead  of  ten  hours,  an  advance  of  twenty  per  cent  in 
wages,  the  handing  over  of  shop  rules  and  discipline  to  a 
union  committee,  the  sanctioning  of  sympathetic  strikes, 
the  closed  shop,  and  a  number  of  lesser  requirements. 

Our  company  was  young.  Engaged  as  we  were  in  a  fierce 
competition  with  the  so-called  Typewriter  Trust,  and  other 
large  typewriter-makers,  whose  works  were  without  excep 
tion  in  country  towns,  and  who  paid  lower  wages  for  ten 
hours  a  day,  the  narrow  margin  of  profits  that  we  had  at 
tained  would  have  vanished  instantly,  and  we  should  have 
started  at  once  toward  bankruptcy.  I  stated  these  facts  to 
the  union  leaders,  and  invited  them  to  put  an  expert  on  our 
books  to  verify  my  assertion.  They  replied  that  they  could 
not  bother  with  our  books;  that  we  could  "cook"  our  ac 
counts  to  suit  ourselves;  and  anyhow,  they  did  not  care  to 
deal  with  weak  concerns.  If  we  could  not  do  business  in 
Chicago  under  union  conditions,  we^had  better  get  out  of 
business  or  out  of  Chicago. 

"What  then  of  our  men  whom  you  have  just  unionized?  " 
I  asked.  "Would  you  destroy  their  jobs  forthwith?" 


172      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

"They  must  sacrifice  themselves  for  the  cause  of  labor," 
was  the  reply;  and  the  poor  fellows  did.  As  the  business 
agents  left,  they  whistled,  and  most  of  the  men  dropped 
their  tools  and  marched  out. 

Before  this  there  had  been  a  fortnight  of  negotiations, 
during  which  I  looked  about  for  help.  I  tried  to  join  the 
Metal  Trades  and  the  Employers  Associations,  and  to  get 
under  their  collective-bargain  umbrella;  but  I  found  no 
room  there.  These  associations  were  controlled  by  the  larger 
local  factories  such  as  the  harvester,  ice-machine,  and  elec 
trical  works,  with  whose  methods,  scale  of  operations,  sales, 
and  seasons,  our  little  typewriter  factory  had  practically 
nothing  in  common.  Labor  conditions  which  were  toler 
able  to  them  were  to  us  about  as  deadly  as  the  union  de 
mands.  So  I  found  myself,  with  a  heavy  heart,  compelled 
to  make  my  fight  alone. 

A  few  months  before,  I  had  met  on  the  railway  train  one 
of  the  Studebakers  of  South  Bend,  whose  factory  had  re 
cently  passed  through  a  strike,  of  which  he  told  me  as 
follows :  — 

"There  had  never  been  any  unions  in  South  Bend  until 
the  organizers  came  from  Chicago  to  organize  our  men.  As 
soon  as  this  was  done,  they  called  a  strike.  Then*  demands 
seemed  to  us  impossible.  So  we  called  the  men  together,  and 
I  made  them  a  speech.  I  said  to  them,  'We  have  got  along 
with  you  men,  from  father  to  son,  for  thirty  years,  and  have 
never  had  any  trouble  until  these  strangers  came  in  to  make 
it.  Now  you  have  put  up  to  us  demands  that  we  believe  are 
impossible.  You,  of  course,  believe  the  other  way.  And 
what  you  believe,  any  other  body  of  men  are  likely  to  be 
lieve.  If  we  can't  get  along  with  you,  we  can't  get  along 
with  anybody  else.  Therefore,  we  are  not  going  to  try  to 
supply  your  places  or  to  run  this  factory  unless  we  run  it 
with  you.  We  shall  simply  shut  down  and  give  you  a 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      173 

chance  to  look  around  for  a  better  job.  If  you  don't  suc 
ceed  in  finding  one  and  wish  to  come  back,  the  old  job  is 
ready  for  you,  on  the  old  conditions,  whenever  men  enough 
decide  to  come  to  work  to  run  the  shops.  If  you  never  come 
back  the  shops  will  stay  closed.' 

"  So  we  shut  down  and  left  simply  the  watchmen  there, 
as  at  night.  We  employed  no  strike-breakers,  and  there  was 
no  hard  feeling.  After  a  few  weeks  the  older  men  began  to 
think  and  argue,  and,  in  the  course  of  two  months,  the 
strike  gradually  faded  out.  The  men  came  back,  a  few  at  a 
time,  work  started  up,  and  we  have  been  non-union  ever 
since.  No  property  was  wrecked  and  no  men  killed,  and  we 
have  had  nothing  to  regret." 

Mr.  Studebaker's  narrative  impressed  me  strongly,  and 
when  I  faced  a  similar  situation  I  followed  his  lead  exactly. 
We  paid  off  the  men  and  inclosed  in  every  pay-envelope  a 
letter  stating  that  we  should  not  fill  the  men's  places,  but 
merely  wait  until  they  found  out  that  all  the  unions  in 
Chicago  could  not  furnish  them  another  job;  after  which,  if 
they  chose  to  come  back,  the  old  jobs  would  be  ready, 
under  the  old  conditions.  If  they  found  other  work  and  did 
not  return  in  a  reasonable  length  of  time,  we  should  feel 
free  to  start  up  with  new  employees,  first  giving  each  man 
ten  days'  notice  so  that  he  could,  if  he  chose,  apply  for  his 
old  situation. 

So  the  shop  remained  closed  for  nearly  eight  weeks. 
The  unions  picketed  it  in  the  meantime,  but  without  reason. 
After  six  weeks  the  majority  of  the  men  indicated  that  they 
wished  to  return  to  work,  and  we  gave  them  the  agreed  ten 
days'  notice.  Before  starting  up,  as  many  of  the  men  ex 
pressed  the  fear  of  slugging,  we  agreed  to  put  the  property 
under  the  protection  of  the  courts,  and  applied  for  an  in 
junction  restraining  the  unions  and  our  union  employees 
from  picketing,  intimidation,  and  violence. 


174      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

Nevertheless,  on  the  day  that  work  was  resumed,  two 
men  were  slugged.  We  caught  the  sluggers,  brought  them 
before  the  court,  had  them  sentenced,  and  then  had  the 
sentence  suspended  during  good  behavior.  We  also  fur 
nished  our  men  with  police  escort  to  and  from  work. 

These  precautions  ended  all  difficulties.  The  majority  of 
our  employees  privately  told  their  foremen  that  they  had 
had  no  grievances,  and  had  joined  the  union  only  because 
they  were  afraid  to  stay  out.  As  soon  as  they  felt  themselves 
protected  by  the  law,  they  quit  the  unions  and  returned  to 
work. 

None  of  them  except  the  pickets  received  strike  benefits 
from  the  unions  while  the  strike  lasted,  although  they  had 
been  told  wThen  joining  the  unions  that  a  large  war-fund 
had  been  laid  by  in  previous  years  in  anticipation  of  this 
year  of  struggle,  from  which  they  should  benefit. 

When  our  strike  was  announced  in  the  papers,  the  Chi 
cago  manager  of  a  detective  agency  called  to  see  me,  stat 
ing  that  his  office  made  a  specialty  of  handling  strikes,  and 
that  he  could  give  me  advance  information  of  every  move 
ment  made  against  our  company.  I  expressed  some  doubt 
as  to  his  ability  to  do  so.  He  replied  about  as  follows:  — 

"These  union  leaders  are  all  grafters;  they  will  take 
money  from  you,  or  from  me,  from  the  politicians,  and  from 
the  men  —  anywhere  they  can  get  it.  Our  agency  practi 
cally  owns  an  official  in  every  important  union  in  America. 
We  will  give  you  detailed  typewritten  reports  of  the  pro 
ceedings  of  the  executive  and  finance  committees  of  the 
six  unions  with  which  you  are  concerned.  When  you  start 
up,  the  unions  will  slip  a  union  man  in  your  shop  to  reor 
ganize  it.  We  will  slip  one  of  our  operatives  in  there,  too, 
and  he  will  keep  you  informed  as  to  what  the  union  man  is 
doing." 

He  finally  persuaded  me  to  accept  his  services,  and  for 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      175 

nearly  six  months  I  received  his  daily  reports,  whose  accu 
racy,  regarding  our  strike  at  least,  was  sufficiently  verified 
by  my  knowledge  of  the  facts  from  our  own  side.  The 
financial  statements,  which  came  in  twice  a  month,  showed 
that  but  one  fifth  of  the  union  war-fund  came  back  to  the 
men,  mostly  in  the  shape  of  pay  for  pickets,  while  four  fifths 
went  in  salaries  and  expenses  of  the  organization.  The  lar 
gest  single  items  were  the  bills  of  a  certain  lawyer,  perhaps 
the  most  conspicuous  champion  of  down-trodden  labor  in 
America,  aggregating  many  thousands  of  dollars,  paid  him 
for  defending  sluggers  and  fighting  injunctions  against 
violence  and  intimidation  of  non-union  men.  Our  strike 
collapsed  in  about  eleven  weeks,  but  according  to  these 
statements  our  pickets,  who  disappeared  from  the  neighbor 
hood  entirely  about  that  time,  were  continuing  to  draw  pay 
when  I  stopped  taking  the  statements  some  three  months 
after.  As  the  business  agents  were  frequently  seen  about 
our  neighborhood,  and  must  have  known  that  the  pickets 
were  not  there,  the  interesting  query  arises  —  who  got  the 
money  that  was  charged  as  paid  for  the  services  of  the 
latter? 

Another  interesting  item  in  the  financial  report  was  two 
dollars  per  man  paid  to  the  organizers  for  organizing  our 
shop.  To  cover  this,  each  man  had  been  charged  an  initia 
tion  fee  of  three  dollars,  and  about  fifty  of  our  men  failed  to 
pay  it.  After  the  collapse  of  the  strike  the  business  agents 
proposed  to  me  to  "call  it  off,"  provided  the  company 
would  pay  the  union  the  amount  of  these  defaulted  initia 
tion  fees  —  a  proposal  quite  in  keeping  with  the  whole 
miserable  performance. 

When  we  finally  started  up  as  a  non-union  shop,  desiring 
to  keep  out  union  spies  while  filling  a  few  vacancies,  we 
advertised  anonymously  for  men  of  the  six  trades,  in  three 
different  ways,  thus  running  eighteen  "ads"  at  once:  for 


176      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

union  men,  closed  shop;  for  non-union  men,  non-union 
shop;  and  for  men,  open  shop.  Nearly  a  hundred  applicants 
answered  both  union  and  non-union  advertisements  and 
were,  of  course,  rejected;  but  the  far  more  interesting  de 
velopment  was  the  fact  that,  out  of  about  one  thousand  ap 
plications  received  by  mail,  over  eight  hundred  and  fifty 
were  for  the  non-union  job.  Many  wrote  strongly,  eager  for 
steady  work  from  which  they  could  not  be  called  by  busi 
ness  agents  every  little  while.  Even  from  the  "polishers," 
supposed  to  be  solidly  unionized,  of  fifty-one  applications, 
thirty-one  were  for  the  non-union  job.  This  "straw  vote" 
satisfied  me  that  our  little  shop,  at  least,  could  ignore  the 
unions;  and  it  did. 

Meantime  the  work  of  the  Anti-Boycott  Association  was 
going  on  in  Chicago  and  the  vicinity.  Its  purpose  was  to 
enforce  the  common  and  statute  law  regarding  conspiracy 
and  combination  in  restraint  of  trade  against  the  labor- 
unions.  The  strikes  of  1901  to  1903  afforded  a  favorable 
opportunity,  and  Chicago  a  good  strategic  point  for  its 
operations.  Several  important  injunction  suits  were 
brought,  and  fought  through  the  local  committee  of  which 
I  was  a  member.  The  moral  effect  of  the  protection  of  the 
courts  upon  the  laboring  population  was  so  marked  that, 
during  the  years  from  1900  to  1903,  not  far  from  one  hun 
dred  injunctions  were  taken  out  in  Chicago  and  the  vicinity. 
It  became  well  understood  among  employers  that  the  ma 
jority  of  employees,  even  union  men,  preferred  to  remain  at 
work  if  protected;  naturally  the  hostility  of  the  unions  to  the 
issuing  of  injunctions  by  the  courts  grew  bitter,  and  still 
persists. 

Eventually  less  aggressive  counsels  prevailed  in  the  Na 
tional  Association  of  Manufacturers.  Suggestions  of  a  great 
fighting  association  of  employers  and  the  formation  of  a 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      177 

large  war-fund,  of  extensive  lockouts  and  the  like,  came  to 
nothing.  Collective  bargaining  accomplished  little.  The 
Studebaker  method  of  non-resistance,  involving  merely 
ability  to  shut  down,  appealed  to  me  as  the  best  defense 
against  professional  trade  unionism.  I  therefore  proposed  at 
the  annual  meeting  of  the  National  Association  of  Manufac 
turers  a  method  of  conferring  that  ability  on  every  mem 
ber:  namely,  a  plan  for  mutual  strike  insurance,  permitting 
any  member  to  insure  against  loss  of  profits  and  waste  of 
fixed  charges  during  idleness  caused  by  strikes. 

The  Honorable  Carroll  D.  Wright,  Commissioner  of 
Labor,  had  published,  in  1901,  the  first  report  of  the  De 
partment  of  Commerce  and  Labor  on  Strikes  and  Lockouts, 
covering  the  years  1881  to  1900.  The  averages  from  this 
report  indicated  that  such  insurance  could  be  written  at 
a  premium  of  less  than  one  per  cent  per  annum. 

The  association  listened  to  the  suggestion  and  appointed 
a  committee  on  strike  insurance,  of  which  I  was  made  chair 
man;  and  in  that  capacity  I  conducted  an  extensive  corre 
spondence,  sending  out  printed  interrogatories  to  the  entire 
membership  of  the  association,  which  yielded  much  valu 
able  information  —  among  other  things  the  fact  that  union 
labor  was  universally  found  to  be  from  thirty  to  forty  per 
cent  less  efficient  than  non-union  labor. 

I  then  thought,  and  still  think,  strike  insurance  an  abso 
lutely  lawful,  cheap,  and  practical  method  of  cooperation 
among  employers,  which,  if  generally  adopted,  would  put 
professional  labor  leaders  clean  out  of  business.  For  an 
employer  need  only  say  to  the  business  agents,  "Go  ahead 
and  strike.  It  will  cost  me  nothing.  I  am  insured,  and  I  will 
shut  down  and  go  fishing  until  the  men  feel  like  going  to 
work  again." 

But  my  associates,  like  myself,  had  had  their  experience 
in  1903;  and  had  found  out  that  unionism  had  not  entirely 

13 


178      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

superseded  the  laws  of  supply  and  demand.  They  answered 
my  committee  substantially  as  follows:  "Your  proposals  are 
sound,  but  not  worth  while.  We  do  not  have  strikes  very 
often.  When  business  is  good,  and  we  want  men,  we  have  to 
bid  up  for  them;  when  it  is  bad  and  we  do  not  want  them, 
they  come  around  after  us.  We  prefer  to  take  our  chances, 
and  if  a  strike  comes,  meet  it  in  our  own  way.  Organized  or 
not,  we  can  and  will  pay  labor  only  what  trade  justifies." 

In  short,  by  1904,  to  these  representative  employers,  over 
three  thousand  of  the  largest  in  the  land,  organized  labor 
was  no  longer  the  devouring  monster  of  1900,  but  had 
shrunk  to  a  mere  gadfly  of  trade,  at  which  the  patient  ox  of 
industry  might  indeed  switch  an  uneasy  tail,  but  against 
which  it  was  scarcely  worth  while  to  screen  him. 

Later  on,  our  company  dropped  out  of  the  National 
Association  of  Manufacturers  and  of  the  Anti-Boycott 
Association,  and  my  personal  contact  with  the  labor  organ 
izations  ceased.  I  now  relate  these  experiences  merely  as  a 
"story"  to  lead  the  reader  on  to  a  far  more  important  and 
convincing  array  of  facts  found  in  certain  public  documents, 
namely:  — 

The  Second  Report  of  the  Commissioner  of  Labor,  on 
Strikes  and  Lockouts  from  1881  to  1905;  the  Report  of 
the  Senate  Committee  on  the  Course  of  Prices  and  Wages 
from  1900  to  1907;  of  the  Census  Bureau  on  Manufactures 
brought  down  to  1905;  and  the  advance  bulletins  of  the 
Census  of  1910. 

According  to  the  first-mentioned  report,  there  were  in  the 
United  States  in  1905,  besides  transportation  companies, 
some  216,262  wage-paying  concerns,  employing  6,157,751 
workers.  In  1881  the  workers  numbered  4,257,613;  so  that 
for  the  twenty-five  years  included  their  average  number 
may  be  assumed  as  5,200,000.  During  this  period  there 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      179 

were  no  less  than  36,757  strikes  (not  counting  those  of  less 
than  a  day),  involving  181,407  concerns,  and  1546  lockouts, 
involving  18,547  concerns.  Neglecting  the  lockouts  and  ex 
cluding  railroad  employees,  8,485,600  persons  were  thrown 
out  of  employment  by  strikes,  for  an  average  period  of  25.4 
days.  These  totals  are  large  enough  to  form  the  basis  of 
reliable  percentages  and  sound  conclusions.  Assuming  the 
low  normal  of  250  working  days  per  annum,  we  may  figure 
the  total  time  lost  by  strikes  during  that  twenty-five  years 
as  two  thirds  of  one  per  cent  of  normal  working  time  —  an 
almost  negligible  fraction. 

Of  the  establishments  involved,  90  per  cent  were  "  struck  " 
by  organized,  and  but  10  per  cent  by  unorganized  labor. 

Organized  labor  won  or  partly  won  in  65  per  cent,  and  un 
organized  labor  in  44  per  cent,  of  strikes  undertaken. 

Lockouts  averaged  85  days  hi  duration,  against  25.4  days 
for  strikes.  Employers  won  or  partly  won  in  68  per  cent  of 
the  lockouts  begun. 

Sixty -seven  per  cent  of  all  strikes  concerned  wages,  hours, 
and  other  primary  questions  between  employers  and  their 
men;  33  per  cent  concerned  recognition  of  the  unions,  and 
other  secondary  questions  between  employers  and  the 
unions,  as  distinguished  from  the  men.  But,  during  the 
twenty-five  years,  as  labor-organization  progressed,  this 
proportion  changed  steadily  and  significantly.  In  1881,  for 
instance,  wage-questions  caused  71  per  cent  of  the  strikes, 
and  "recognition"  but  7  per  cent.  In  1905  the  figures  were 
respectively  37  and  36  percent.  As  the  percentage  of  strikes 
for  recognition  rose,  the  percentage  of  victories  fell,  from 
the  grand  average  of  65  percent  for  the  twenty-five  years,  to 
52  per  cent  in  1904  and  1905,  the  last  two  years. 

Substantially  no  strikes  were  undertaken  for  sanitary 
conditions,  or  against  dangerous  machinery,  child  or  female 


180      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

labor,  and  the  like  "welfare"  questions,  which  the  labor 
leaders  have  practically  left  to  the  philanthropists.1 

To-day,  after  fifty  years  of  organization,  we  may  say 
roughly  that  70  per  cent  of  the  industrial  workers  and  90 
per  cent  of  all  wage-earners  remain  non-union  and  may  be 
presumed  not  to  favor  strike-machines.  The  enormous 
majority  of  wage-workers  neither  unionize  nor  strike,  but 
prefer  to  remain  at  work  and  settle  their  wage-questions 
and  working  conditions  for  themselves  directly  with  their 
employers. 

In  valuing  the  widely  differing  results  of  strike-effort, 
that  is,  the  efficiency  of  trade-unions,  certain  general  con 
siderations  must  be  borne  in  mind.  "The  destruction  of  the 
poor  is  their  poverty."  All  an  employer  needs  to  win  any 
ordinary  strike  is  the  ability  merely  to  shut  down,  and  wait 
until  starvation  does  its  work.  This  he  knows  perfectly  well. 

1  Strikes  succeeded  according  to  their  causes  as  follows:  — 
For  higher  wages  69  per  cent 

For  shorter  hours  61   " 

For  recognition  57  " 

Against  reduction  of  wages    48  " 
Sympathetic  strikes  23  "       " 

The  building  trades  developed  39  per  cent  of  all  strikes  and  55  per  cent 
of  all  lockouts. 

During  the  whole  twenty-five  years,  45  per  cent  of  all  male  and  28  per 
cent  of  all  female  employees  have  struck,  averaging  one  strike  each.  The 
maximum  number  on  strike  in  any  one  year  was  563,143  in  1902,  or  about 
one  hand  in  every  ten.  On  the  average,  but  one  hand  in  fifty  struck  each 
year. 

The  Federation  of  Labor  (see  its  reports)  claimed  692,000  members  in 
1890,  1,500,000  in  1905,  and  1,700,000  in  1910.  Including  unions  not  in 
the  Federation,  perhaps  2,000,000  may  be  assumed  as  the  present  member 
ship,  and  750,000  as  the  average  membership,  of  all  the  unions  in  the 
United  States,  for  the  twenty-five  years  ending  in  1905;  this  last  being, 
say,  15  per  cent  of  the  "industrial"  wage-workers,  and  but  5  per  cent  of 
the  entire  wage-working  population.  It  made,  however,  90  per  cent  of  the 
trouble. 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      181 

But  low  wages,  long  hours,  and  such  primary  questions  be 
tween  him  and  his  men  are  seldom  worth  to  him  a  shut 
down,  or  a  fight  to  keep  running.  They  mean  merely  in 
creased  cost  of  labor  which,  like  that  of  material,  can 
generally  be  added  to  prices,  and  the  burden  passed  along 
to  the  consumer.  Indeed,  the  large  majority  of  increases 
and  decreases,  the  natural  fluctuations  of  wages  and  prices, 
take  place  automatically  under  the  law  of  supply  and 
demand;  and  differences  come  to  the  striking  point,  as  we 
have  seen,  only  two  thirds  of  one  per  cent  of  the  time  — 
which  is  too  seldom  to  count  much.  Ordinarily,  therefore, 
the  employer  is  indifferent,  and  easily  yields  wages  and 
hours  demanded.  He  is  seldom  the  tyrant  blood-sucker  of 
helpless  laboring  men,  women,  and  children  that  union 
leaders  and  muck-rakers  love  to  depict;  with  rare  exceptions 
he  is  a  pretty  decent  fellow,  who  likes  his  working  people, 
and  willingly  pays  full  going  wages,  and  runs  as  short  hours 
as  his  trade  will  permit. 

Of  prime  importance  to  him,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the 
kind  of  work  he  gets  for  wages  paid  during  the  99  J  per  cent 
of  the  time  between  strikes.  "No  man  can  serve  two  mas 
ters  :  for  either  he  will  hate  the  one,  and  love  the  other;  or  he 
will  hold  to  the  one,  and  despise  the  other."  When  "recog 
nition"  means  that  employees  must  take  orders  from  hah*  a 
dozen  different  unions  instead  of  from  the  man  who  pays 
them;  that  old  and  faithful  hands  must  unionize  or  leave; 
that  sympathetic  strikes  and  boycotts  and  refusal  to  handle 
non-union  material  may  unexpectedly  and  uselessly  involve 
him  in  the  troubles  of  distant  strangers;  in  short,  that 
brains,  foresight,  and  energy  may  any  day  be  ripped  out  of 
his  business,  as  a  scullion  rips  the  vitals  from  a  fish,  and  it 
must  broil  helpless  on  the  gridiron  of  competition,  —  all  of 
this  being  exactly  what  "recognition"  does  mean,  —  verily 
the  employer  is  bound  to  fight  or  lock  out,  if  he  can.  But 


182      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

first,  with  property  and  trade  at  stake,  he  carefully  consid 
ers  his  position. 

He  cannot  fight  or  lock  out,  but  must  yield  for  the  nonce, 
when,  as  in  the  building  trades,  time  is  of  the  essence  of  his 
obligations,  with  important  work  to  be  finished  by  a  day 
certain;  or  when  he  is  financially  so  weak  that  he  must  keep 
going  or  fail.  He  cannot  yield  or  lock  out,  but  must  fight, 
when,  as  in  the  railroad  and  other  public  service,  the  law 
and  franchises  enforce  continuous  operation,  yet  limit  prices 
for  service;  or  when,  as  of  late  in  the  soft-coal  and  garment 
trades,  competition  is  so  intense  as  to  have  precisely  the 
same  effect.  The  poor  chap  ponders  long,  and  often  decides 
wrongly.  But  the  labor  leaders  are  held  back  by  no  finan 
cial  responsibility  of  their  own  or  of  their  unions.  The  union 
men  may  suffer  individually,  but  the  leaders'  comfortable 
salaries  run  on,  and  union  treasuries  are  on  tap.  The  leaders' 
personal  importance  increases  enormously  during  a  strike, 
while  for  the  grafters  among  them  —  and  union  history 
is  full  of  graft  —  the  strike  is  their  greatest  opportunity. 

The  student  can  understand,  then,  why  there  were  ten 
strikes  to  one  lockout,  and  nine  union  strikes  to  one  called 
by  unorganized  labor;  why  labor  has  won  the  majority  of 
strikes  so  far,  and  lost  the  majority  of  lockouts;  why,  as 
they  strike  more  and  more  for  "recognition"  and  like  sec 
ondary  causes,  the  unions  win  less  and  less;  and  why  the 
leaders  fight  three  times  as  desperately,  and  hold  their  un 
lucky  followers  out  three  times  as  long,  for  "recognition," 
involving  their  own  power  and  prestige,  as  for  wages,  con 
cerning  only  the  men  —  yet,  nevertheless,  lose  oftener  in 
the  end.  One  can  understand,  too,  why,  when  trade  condi 
tions  compel  reductions  of  wages  or  demand  shop  discipline 
and  efficiency,  capital  takes  a  stand  and  labor  is  compara 
tively  helpless. 

And  finally  one  can  understand  why  —  as  Allan  Pinker- 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      183 

ton  said  of  the  Mollie  McGuires  thirty  years  ago  —  "Or 
ganized  labor  is  organized  violence."  It  must  always  be. 
So  long  as  the  great  majority  of  laborers  remain  outside  the 
unions,  and  a  majority  of  those  inside  are  there  only 
through  fear,  terrorism  becomes  the  only  means  of  prevent 
ing  free  competition  in  labor  and  the  settlement  of  strikes 
according  to  the  real  attractiveness,  or  the  contrary,  of 
labor  conditions.  Samuel  Gompers  is  credited  by  a  recent 
New  York  daily  with  the  remark,  "Organized  labor  with 
out  violence  is  a  joke."  It  seems  impossible  that  he  should 
have  said  such  a  thing,  but  the  thing  itself  is  true  of  existing 
trade-unionism. 

Seeing  then  that  labor  is  at  actual  "war"  with  capital 
but  two  thirds  of  one  per  cent  of  the  time;  and  that  even 
then  organized  labor  wins  but  three  times  to  unorganized 
labor's  twice,  what,  after  all,  is  all  this  colossal  organization 
worth  to  labor?  What  is  the  net  value  of  three  wins  to  two 
during  less  than  one  per  cent  of  the  time?  Does  this  minute 
increase  of  efficiency  justify  the  cost  of  organization  during 
the  remaining  ninety-nine  per  cent? 

The  labor  leaders  will  answer  that  organization  is  the 
sole  foundation  of  good  wages  all  the  time.  Well,  is  it?  Let 
us  turn  to  the  Senate  Report  on  WTages  and  Prices  for  the 
following  testimony:  — 

While  from  1900  to  1907  the  average  price  of  25  leading 
commodities  advanced  17  per  cent,  farm  labor,  entirely  un 
organized,  advanced  from  60  to  67  per  cent.  Ribbon  and 
hosiery  mill-labor,  poorly  organized,  two  thirds  of  whose 
strikes  failed  (see  strike  report)  advanced  respectively  44 
and  36  per  cent;  railway  labor,  highly  organized,  advanced 
as  follows:  trainmen  33  per  cent,  machinists  30  per  cent, 
engineers  20  per  cent,  miscellaneous  18  per  cent;  building- 
trades  labor,  over-organized,  advanced  but  32  per  cent; 
cabinet-makers,  well-organized,  advanced  but  20  per  cent. 


184      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

Another  comparison  from  the  same  report  of  wages  paid 
in  1907  in  different  cities  and  countries,  shows  that  union 
carpenters  earned  in  Philadelphia  $21  per  week,  in  Louis 
ville  $18,  in  Baltimore  $21,  in  Chicago  $27.50,  in  London, 
England,  $10.65.  Union  compositors  earned  in  Philadelphia 
43  cents  per  hour,  in  Chicago  67  cents,  in  San  Francisco  80 
cents. 

That  is  to  say,  of  the  different  classes  considered  by  the 
Senate  Committee,  entirely  unorganized,  unskilled  labor 
gained  most  in  wages,  badly  organized  labor  came  next, 
and  the  best  organized  and  strongest  of  all  union  labor,  the 
railway  engineers,  gained  least;  while  laborers  of  the  same 
unions  at  one  and  the  same  time,  in  different  cities  of  the 
same  country,  drew  widely  different  and  apparently  incon 
sistent  rates  of  wages  for  the  same  work. 

How  can  these  contradictory  facts  be  accounted  for  on 
the  theory  that  unionism  is  the  foundation  of  wage-scales? 
It  is  not.  Actually,  they  are  fixed,  the  world  over,  by  local 
conditions  of  supply,  demand,  and  efficiency;  and  trade- 
unionism  has  had  about  as  much  effect  upon  them,  broadly 
speaking,  as  has  had  that  magnificent  fake,  the  protective 
tariff. 

If  unionism  cannot,  what  then  can  secure  for  the  work- 
ingman  high  wages,  that  is,  a  high  standard  of  living?  The 
answer  is  plain  —  nothing  but  efficiency:  high-producing 
power  conferred  on  labor  by  conjunction  with  brains  and 
capital.  This  almost  axiomatic  proposition  is  prettily  dem 
onstrated  by  the  1905  Census  Report  on  Manufactures, 
which  shows :  — 

That  small  establishments  whose  annual  product  amount 
ed  to  $5000  or  less  employed  1.9  per  cent  of  the  labor,  drew 
1.6  per  cent  of  the  pay-roll,  and  produced  1.2  per  cent  of 
the  total  output. 

That   middle-sized   concerns,   with   from   $100,000   to 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      185 

$200,000  annual  product,  employed  18.8  per  cent  of  the 
labor,  drew  18.3  per  cent  of  the  wages,  and  produced  14.4 
per  cent  of  the  output. 

That  large  concerns  with  $1,000,000  or  more  annual 
product  employed  25.6  per  cent  of  the  labor,  drew  27.2  per 
cent  of  the  pay-roll,  and  produced  38  per  cent  of  the  output. 

Evidently  the  little  fellow  who  is  "crushed  by  the  trust " 
and  goes  to  work  for  it,  "no  longer  free  but  a  mere  slave," 
draws  more  pay  than  before,  as  it  grows  bigger,  and  his 
efficiency  grows  with  it.  A  little  of  the  resulting  saving 
comes  to  him  direct;  a  little  goes  to  the  trust;  but  the  bulk 
of  it  comes  to  you  and  me,  to  everybody,  himself  included, 
in  reduction  of  prices  and  cost  of  living.  That  is  the  law  of 
trade. 

How  much  ought  to  come  to  him  direct?  What  should  be 
his  share  of  the  increment  of  his  productive  value  due,  not 
to  himself,  but  to  capital  and  brains?  Not  much!  Like  the 
"unearned  increment"  on  real  estate,  most  of  it  rightfully 
belongs  to  the  community;  and  one  way  or  another  the 
community  gets  it.  What,  then,  are  those  "rights  of  labor, " 
which  labor  is  to  get  when  Mr.  Gompers's  prophecy  of  the 
final  domination  of  muscle  over  mind  is  realized?  Probably 
labor  itself  would  define  them  as  an  even  "divide,"  master 
and  man  alike,  all  round.  Well,  what  would  that  amount 
to?  Here  is  a  crude  guess. 

The  census  of  1910  gives  the  total  wealth  of  the  nation  as 
about  $107,000,000,000,  of  which  about  one  quarter  was  in 
the  land;  which  last,  the  nation  neither  made  nor  saved. 
The  rest  was  in  worldly  goods  produced  by  all,  and  saved 
by  some  of  us.  It  amounts  to,  say,  $983  each  for  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  the  United  States;  or,  say,  $4500  per 
family.  At  the  usual  capitalistic  return  of  5  per  cent,  this 
would  yield  $225  per  annum,  or  61  cents  per  day  per  family. 
That  is,  were  all  the  brains  and 'property  of  the  country  to 


186      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

continue  as  now  at  the  service  of  labor,  and  were  it  to  work 
as  hard  as  now,  and  were  each  family  head  to  draw  61  cents 
per  day  greater  average  pay,  labor  would  get  everything  — 
nothing  left  for  capital,  brains,  and  time  spent  in  evolution 
of  the  commercial  situation. 

Labor  would  probably  turn  upon  Gompers  and  say,  "Is 
that  all?  Where  are  our  rights  —  our  automobiles  and 
Scotch  castles,  our  golf  and  idle  days?"  And  some  wiser 
man  than  Edward  Bellamy  would  answer,  "Those  things 
are  not  on  the  cards,  boys.  You  will  each  have  to  turn  out 
many  hundred  times  more  work  than  you  are  doing  every 
day  in  order  to  pass  such  luxuries  around."  The  boys 
would  probably  reply,  "If  61  cents  a  day  extra,  and  hard 
work  for  life,  is  all  there  is  in  it,  we  will  take  a  vacation  and 
spend  our  $4500  apiece  right  now,  and  have  one  good  time 
while  it  lasts." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  are  no  "rights,"  there  is  no 
enormous  profit  stolen  from  its  daily  toil,  which  labor  does 
not  get.  The  whole  wealth  of  the  country,  its  accumulation 
of  three  centuries,  was  $80,000,000,000  in  1910,  land-values 
neglected.  The  farm  products  of  that  year  were  $9,000,000,- 
000,  the  industrial  products  $15,000,000,000,  and  the  pre 
cious  metals  $126,000,000;  probably,  all  in  all,  we  produced 
$25,000,000,000  of  value  last  year.  The  savings  of  three 
centuries,  then,  are  barely  three  years'  product!  and  they, 
too,  are  perishable.  The  food  and  merchandise  disappear  in 
a  year;  the  roads,  rolling-stock,  and  machinery  in  ten  years; 
the  buildings,  say,  in  thirty.  All  must  be  renewed  from  year 
to  year.  The  world  really  lives  from  hand  to  mouth,  its 
toiling  millions  consuming  at  least  97  per  cent  of  all  they 
produce.  A  few  millions  of  workers  of  rare  industry  and 
thrift,  a  few  hundred  thousand  of  still  rarer  brain  and  en 
ergy,  gather  together  the  small  fraction  that  remains,  and 
concentrate  it  by  the  world- wide  machinery  of  modern 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      187 

commerce  in  a  few  favored  countries  —  for  themselves, 
as  they  fondly  suppose,  but  really,  under  a  mightier  intelli 
gence  than  theirs,  mainly  for  the  use  and  benefit  of  labor, 
which  works  and  thinks  as  little  as  possible,  and  saves 
hardly  at  all. 

Let  us  inquire  now  what  are  the  plainly  evident  interests 
of  wage-working  people,  and  upon  them  try  to  build  logical 
and  useful  principles  of  association  with  those  of  their 
fellow  men  who,  possessing  brains,  will  always  also  control 
capital.  Those  interests  are,  as  I  see  them :  — 

Employment.  The  laborer  must  have  a  job,  furnished 
him  by  someone  else,  for  he  has  not  the  ability  to  create  one 
for  himself.  It  must  be  continuous;  for  his  time  is  all  he  has, 
and  every  day  lost  is  so  much  pay  gone  forever.  He,  him 
self,  should  be  the  last  man  to  interrupt  or  cripple  his  own 
job;  nor  should  it  be  subject  to  interruption  by  quarrels  of 
other  men  with  other  jobs  in  which  he  has  no  concern. 

Freedom  to  work.  If  employment  fails,  does  not  pay,  or  is 
unsuitable,  it  is  absolutely  vital  that  the  laborer  shall  be 
free  to  seek  any  other  employment  or  locality,  without 
being  shut  in  or  out  by  union  walls.  It  is  best  for  him,  as 
for  the  community,  that  labor,  like  capital,  should  be  liquid, 
free  to  flow  where  most  needed;  in  ample  supply  everywhere, 
in  stagnation  nowhere. 

Th'e  highest  going  wages,  regularly  paid.  As  "  going  "  wages, 
the  world  over,  practically  absorb  the  product  of  each  coun 
try,  it  is  idle  to  attempt  to  secure  more.  The  only  way  the 
laborer  can  induce,  or  indeed  enable,  his  employer  to 
pay  the  highest  wages  is  to  produce  the  utmost  in  return, 
and  make  him  prosperous.  For,  though  it  does  not  follow 
that  a  prosperous  business  always  pays  the  highest  wages,  a 
losing  business  practically  never  does.  Therefore,  up  to  the 
point  of  healthy  fatigue,  the  workman  in  his  own  interest 


188      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

should  put  his  heart  and  back  into  his  work,  in  fullest  accord 
with  the  brain  that  creates  and  pays  for  his  job;  doing  his 
level  best  to  increase  output  and  decrease  unit-cost  to  his 
employer  and  to  the  community. 

As  labor  seldom  saves,  and  figures  ahead  only  from  pay 
day  to  pay-day,  pay-days  must  be  regular  and  frequent, 
and  the  work  steady.  The  employer,  to  be  ideal,  must  be 
strong,  and  successful;  in  short,  a  capitalist,  independent  as 
far  as  possible  of  the  troubles  of  other  business  concerns. 

If  these  are  the  interests  of  labor,  they  are  plainly  identi 
cal  with  those  of  capital  and  of  the  community.  There  will 
always  remain,  to  be  determined  justly,  however,  the  ques 
tions,  what  are  "going  wages"  and  "healthy  fatigue. " 

These  are  questions  of  fact  and  of  individual  capacity, 
whose  determining  factors,  in  spite  of  all  our  contrivances, 
will  probably  always  be  those  of  supply,  demand,  and  effi 
ciency  in  open  market  —  namely,  of  competition :  questions 
whose  mastery  demands  more  study  than  average  working 
people  are  capable  of.  Nevertheless,  to  satisfy  "Labor"  — 
which  nowadays  "wants  to  know,"  and  would  cut  loose 
from  simple  and  sound  old  methods  —  that  labor-competi 
tion  is  inevitable,  as  well  as  immediately  and  ultimately  just, 
and  yet  to  mitigate  as  far  as  may  be,  its  harshness,  "  Capi 
tal"  might  well,  it  seems  to  me,  utilize  the  fine  principle  of 
brotherhood,  of  strength  in  union  among  laboring  people; 
devising  for  the  larger  industries,  with  its  greater  intelli 
gence,  a  form  of  union  among  employees,  more  logical  than 
present  unionism,  wage-contracts  more  just  to  the  individ 
ual,  and  more  efficient  than  present  collective  bargaining, 
and  last,  but  not  least,  a  practical  method  of  enforcing  such 
contracts  on  both  sides.  For  it  is  useless  to  make  contracts 
which  cannot  be  enforced.  The  law  will  not  compel  a 
laborer  to  work,  and  neither  he  nor  his  union  has  any  prop 
erty  good  for  damages  resulting  from  his  breach  of  contract. 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      189 

When  the  pinch  comes,  the  union  leaders  calmly  say  they 
"cannot  hold  the  men"  (which  is  perfectly  true),  and  that 
is  the  end  of  their  contracts  —  mere  ropes  of  sand! 

Capital  prefers,  therefore,  to  hire  from  day  to  day,  and 
take  its  chances  of  getting  such  labor  as  it  wants  in  the  open 
market.  If,  now,  labor  desires  that  capital  shall  bind  itself 
by  long-term  contracts  to  stay  out  of  the  open  market,  and 
deal  only  with  particular  bodies  of  laborers,  it  is  not  only 
justice,  but  common  sense,  that  the  latter  also  shall  be 
bound,  and  that  their  side  of  the  contract  as  well  as  capital's 
shall  be  guaranteed  by  property. 

To  accomplish  all  this,  let  us  suppose  that  the  employer 
first,  in  order  to  disentangle  his  concern  from  the  labor 
troubles  of  others,  himself  quits  all  employers'  associations, 
and  proposes  to  his  employees  to  form  a  union  of  their  own, 
not  tied  to  other  unions  and  their  wars;  offering  each  man 
who  joins  it  a  written  contract  providing :  — 

1.  For  its  termination  only  on  three  months'  notice  by 
either  party,  or  by  common  consent. 

2.  For  steady  work,  without  strike  or  lockout,  while 
trade  conditions  permit. 

3.  For  the  highest  efficiency  consistent  with  healthy 
fatigue,  and  corresponding  highest  "going"  wages;  reason 
able  maximum  scales  of  efficiency  and  wages,  to  be  proposed 
by  the  employer  as  conditions  change  from  time  to  time, 
employees  falling  below  maximum  efficiency  to  draw  re 
duced  wages  in  proportion  to  performance. 

4.  For  the  prompt  acceptance  or  rejection,  by  representa 
tive  members  of  the  union,  of  trade  conditions,  scales  of 
efficiency  and  maximum  wages,  working  rules,  etc.,  from 
time  to  time  announced  or  proposed  by  the  employer;  full 
est  facilities  for  investigation  thereof  to  be  afforded  by  him. 

5.  For  the  creation  of  a  joint  guarantee  fund,  equal,  say, 
to  five  per  cent  of  each  employee's  wages,  to  be  contributed 


190      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

on  pay-days,  one  half  by  him  and  one  half  by  the  employer, 
and  placed  in  trust  to  accumulate  at  interest;  its  sum  to  be 
divided  between  himself  and  the  employer  if  he  quits  or  is 
discharged  with  the  three  months'  notice,  or  by  mutual  con 
sent;  or  to  be  forfeited  entire  by  or  to  him,  if  he  quits  or  is 
discharged  without  the  three  months'  notice,  during  his  first 
fifteen  years'  employment.  After  fifteen  years  he  may  at 
any  time  either  retire,  and  withdraw  the  whole  as  a  savings 
fund,  or  retire  on  a  pension  representing  it,  upon  giving  the 
three  months'  notice. 

Employees  who  prefer  not  to  join  such  a  union  are  not  to 
be  forced  to  do  so,  or  to  quit  other  unions;  but  to  remain 
without  benefits,  as  ordinary  employees  by  the  day.  Those 
who  join  and  sign  contracts  are,  of  course,  free  to  quit  or 
strike  without  notice,  if  they  think  it  worth  while  to  forfeit 
their  half  of  the  guaranty  fund.  In  case  of  a  deadlock  be 
tween  the  employer  and  the  union  representative,  the  em 
ployer  as  well  as  the  men,  if  dissatisfied  with  existing  scales 
or  conditions,  must  give  notice  and  wait  three  months  be 
fore  lockout  or  strike,  or  forfeit  the  guaranty  funds.  Indi 
vidual  men  preferring  not  to  give  notice  would,  of  course, 
hold  their  jobs  and  their  guaranty  funds. 

At  the  end  of  the  three  months'  notice,  should  the  dead 
lock  continue,  the  men  would  draw  their  shares  of  the  ac 
cumulated  guaranty  fund,  and  go  their  ways,  sacrificing 
their  pension-standing,  etc.  The  employer  would  have  to 
build  up  a  new  force.  Probably  both  sides  would  try  the 
ordinary  endurance  test,  to  see  which  would  yield  first;  the 
men  better  financed  than  usual,  and  the  employer  having 
had  three  months  for  finishing  work  in  process  and  prepar 
ing  to  shut  down,  with  his  share  of  the  guaranty  fund  as  a 
financial  anchor  to  windward.  The  possibility  of  strikes 
would  not  be  abolished,  but  would,  in  my  judgment,  be 
greatly  lessened  under  this  plan.  Nothing  clears  the  judg 
ment  like  financial  responsibility. 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      191 

Such  a  form  of  unionism  would,  it  seems  to  me,  promote 
as  well  as  human  contrivance  can  the  common  interests  of 
labor  and  capital,  namely,  continuous  employment,  free 
dom  for  labor  to  flow  where  wanted,  high  efficiency  and 
high  wages  under  healthy  conditions;  and  would  add  to  the 
general  blessings  of  industrial  peace  the  special  blessings  of 
thrift  and  insurance.  A  prominent  Western  actuary  recently 
laid  before  his  employer  friends  a  plan  under  which  the  em 
ployer's  half  of  such  a  five  per  cent  guaranty  fund  would 
more  than  suffice,  and  might  be  used  during  the  first  fifteen 
years  to  pay  the  premiums  upon  a  death,  accident,  and 
sickness  insurance  policy  in  one  of  the  standard  companies, 
covering  (in  lieu  of  employers'  liability)  the  same  scale 
of  benefits  that  is  now  provided  for  working  men  under  the 
admirable  German  Compulsory  Insurance  laws.  At  the  end 
of  the  fifteen  years,  the  accumulations  of  the  employee's 
half  of  the  fund  and  interest  would  suffice  to  take  the  place 
of  the  insurance  policy,  which  could  then  be  dropped;  and 
thereafter  the  whole  fund  would  accumulate,  to  provide  the 
same  benefits,  and  a  savings  fund  or  retiring  pension  at  the 
employee's  option. 

He  would,  however,  sacrifice  all  the  accumulations  and 
the  two  and  a  half  per  cent  of  his  wages,  should  he  break  his 
contract  and  quit  without  notice;  or  should  he,  in  case  of 
accident  or  injury,  elect  to  abandon  his  contract  benefits, 
and  hold  his  employer  liable  under  existing  laws  —  a  strong 
reason  for  doing  neither. 

Would  the  men  sign  such  contracts,  offering  incompar 
ably  greater  benefits  to  themselves  and  the  community 
than  are  offered  by  existing  trade-unions,  laws,  and  chari 
ties?  If  we  may  forecast  their  probable  action  from  the 
foregoing  statistics,  most  of  them  would.  It  is  certain,  how 
ever,  that  no  union  man  would  do  so  if  the  present  union 
leaders  could  prevent.  Prying  capital  and  labor  apart  with 


192      VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM 

a  wedge  of  class-hatred,  and  inserting  themselves  between, 
is  now  their  gainful,  conspicuous,  and  interesting  vocation. 
Permanent,  peaceful,  and  profitable  relations  between  em 
ployer  and  employee  would  put  them  out  of  power.  There 
fore,  when  Mr.  Taylor,  by  long  experiment,  finds  ways  for 
men  to  do  vastly  more  work  with  less  effort,  and  draw  much 
more  pay,  Mr.  Mitchell  promptly  repudiates  for  labor  the 
idea  of  doing  so  much  for  the  money.  If  Mr.  Perkins  offers 
Steel  Corporation  shares  to  its  employees  on  easy  payments, 
so  that  they  may  be  directly  interested  in  its  success  and  in 
the  profits  from  their  own  toil,  Mr.  Morrison  denounces  the 
offer  as  bribery,  and  those  who  accept  it  as  traitors  to  their 
class. 

So  there  you  have  the  issue  sharply  defined.  However 
sordid  the  motives  of  capital,  its  methods  have  been  enor 
mously  beneficial  to  the  race.  It  has  learned  that  human 
efficiency  means  abundance  for  human  need,  and  abundance 
low  prices,  and  low  prices  larger  trade,  and  larger  trade 
greater  profits.  With  the  purely  selfish  purpose  of  garner 
ing  these  profits,  capital  has  for  a  century  produced  and 
supplied  to  the  race,  in  return  for  its  daily  toil,  an  ever-in 
creasing  store  of  the  necessaries  and  luxuries  of  life. 

On  the  other  hand,  labor,  equally  selfish  but  less  intelli 
gent,  everywhere  and  always  fights  efficiency,  discipline, 
scientific  management;  in  short,  fights  every  means  of  in 
creasing  output  and  reducing  unit-cost.  Everywhere  and 
always,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  labor  stands  for  monopoly, 
violence,  and  coercion,  and  against  personal  independence. 
The  non-union  man  has  no  right  to  life,  liberty,  and  the 
pursuit  of  a  job.  At  the  very  moment  of  time  when  the 
world  demands  of  capital  the  utmost  commercial  freedom, 
the  widest  competition,  the  greatest  energy,  the  cheapest 
and  best  service,  labor  stands  for  the  exact  opposite  —  for 
tyranny,  combination  in  restraint  of  trade,  high  cost,  in- 


VALUE  OF  EXISTING  TRADE-UNIONISM      193 

efficiency,  and  sloth.  To  sum  up,  in  hauling  the  heavy  load 
of  human  existence,  it  is  the  admitted  principle  and  pur 
pose  of  organized  labor  to  balk  and  not  to  pull. 

A  priori,  and  from  the  broad  experience,  personal  and 
national,  cited  above,  the  conclusion  comes  to  me  irresisti 
bly,  that  the  principle  is  false,  the  purpose  wrong,  and  the 
result  inevitable;  in  fine,  that  existing  trade-unionism  is  of 
no  value,  to  itself  or  to  the  community,  and  must  make 
way  for  something  better. 


14 


THE   ECONOMIC   NECESSITY   OF 
TRADE-UNIONISM1 

JOHN  MITCHELL 

THOSE  who  declare  themselves  to  be  in  favor  of  trade- 
unionism  in  the  abstract,  but  opposed  to  it  in  the  concrete, 
are  not  unlike  the  Western  farmer  who  announced  that  he 
was  unreservedly  in  favor  of  the  construction  of  railroads, 
but  unalterably  opposed  to  the  running  of  trams.  Trade- 
unions  were  formed  for  a  definite  purpose;  they  have  well- 
defined  policies  and  methods  of  procedure;  they  are  great 
democratic  institutions,  administered  by  practical  men, 
who  are  earnestly  and  successfully  striving  for  the  ameliora 
tion  of  the  conditions  of  the  poor. 

In  its  fundamental  principle,  trade-unionism  is  a  recogni 
tion  of  the  fact  that  under  modern  industrial  conditions  the 
individual  unorganized  workingman  cannot  bargain  ad 
vantageously  with  the  employer  for  the  sale  of  his  labor. 
Since  the  workingman  has  little  or  no  money  in  reserve  and 
must  sell  his  labor  immediately;  since,  moreover,  he  has  no 
knowledge  of  the  market  and  no  skill  in  bargaining;  since, 
finally,  he  has  only  his  own  labor  to  sell,  while  the  employer 
engages  hundreds  or  even  thousands  of  men  and  can  easily 
do  without  the  services  of  any  one  of  them,  the  workingman, 
if  bargaining  on  his  own  account  and  for  himself  alone,  is  at 
an  enormous  disadvantage.  Trade-unionism  recognizes  the 
fact  that  under  such  conditions  the  workingman  becomes 

1  The  omitted  portions  of  this  essay  deal  with  the  relations  of  labor- 
unions  to  the  Sherman  Anti-Trust  Act  and  to  the  problem  of  rising  prices. 
The  essay  is,  in  general,  a  reply  to  Professor  J.  Laurence  Laughlin's 
"  Monopoly  of  Labor"  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  October,  1913. 


AN  ECONOMIC  NECESSITY  195 

more  and  more  helpless,  because  the  labor  that  he  sells, 
unlike  other  commodities,  is  a  thing  which  is  of  his  very  life 
and  soul  and  being. 

In  the  individual  contract  between  a  powerful  employer 
and  a  single  workingman  the  laborer  secures  the  worst  of 
the  bargain.  He  is  progressively  debased  because  of  wages 
insufficient  to  buy  nourishing  food,  because  of  hours  of 
labor  too  long  to  permit  of  sufficient  rest,  because  of  condi 
tions  of  work  destructive  of  moral,  mental,  and  physical 
health;  and,  finally,  because  of  danger  from  accident  and 
disease,  which  kill  off  the  workingman  or  prematurely  age 
him.  The  individual  bargain  or  individual  contract  between 
employers  and  employees  means  that  the  condition  of  the 
economically  weakest  man  in  the  industry  is  often  that 
which  the  average  man  must  accept.  Therefore,  there  can 
be  no  permanent  prosperity  to  the  wage-earners,  no  real, 
lasting  progress,  no  consecutive  improvement  in  conditions, 
until  the  principle  is  firmly  and  fully  established  that,  in 
industrial  life,  especially  in  enterprises  on  a  large  scale,  the 
settlement  of  wages,  hours  of  labor,  and  all  essential  con 
ditions  of  work,  shall  be  made  between  employers  and 
employees  collectively,  and  not  between  employers  and 
employees  individually. 

The  policy  of  collective  bargaining,  as  advocated  by  the 
unions,  recognizes  and  teaches  the  interdependence  of  labor 
and  capital.  It  is  the  bridge  that  spans  the  gulf  which  mod 
ern  industrialism  has  created  between  the  workingman  and 
the  employer.  It  is  necessary  only  to  attend  a  joint  confer 
ence  between  the  representatives  of  any  of  the  great  trade- 
unions  and  the  representatives  of  employers  or  employers' 
associations,  when  wage-agreements  are  under  discussion, 
to  be  convinced  that  there  are  no  more  antagonisms  en 
gendered,  and  no  more  ill-feeling  displayed,  than  there  are 


196  TRADE-UNIONISM 

between  any  other  groups  of  men  meeting  in  conference  for 
the  purpose  of  buying  and  disposing  of  a  commodity  which 
one  must  have  and  the  other  must  sell. 

The  organized  workingman,  as  a  rule,  is  not  hostile  to  the 
employer  of  labor;  he  does  not  entertain  any  feelings  of 
hatred  against  the  man  who  has  honorably  acquired  wealth. 
The  workingman  understands  full  well  that  his  wages  must 
come  from  the  earnings  of  industry;  therefore  he  is  inter 
ested  in  the  successful  conduct  of  industry.  In  common  with 
many  other  good  citizens,  he  may  fear  that  there  is  some 
danger  to  society,  and  to  the  institutions  of  our  country,  in 
the  possession  of  enormous  wealth  by  a  few  men;  and  he  re 
gards  as  immoral  the  acquirement  of  wealth  through  the 
payment  of  less  than  living  wages  and  the  imposition  of  un 
just  conditions  of  employment. 

It  is  true  that  in  their  wage-conferences  the  employers 
and  the  organized  workingmen  are  not  always  able  to 
agree,  and  that  strikes  or  lockouts  occur.  It  is  equally  true 
that  strikes  and  lockouts  occur  in  trades  and  industries  in 
which  the  workers  are  not  organized.  Indeed,  many  of  the 
most  bitterly  contested  strikes  of  which  we  have  any  record 
have  been  inaugurated  and  conducted  by  non-union  men. 
Fresh  in  the  memories  of  all  are  the  reports  of  the  scenes  at 
tending  strikes  of  non-unionists  at  McKee's  Rocks  and 
Bethlehem,  Pennsylvania,  at  Paterson,  New  Jersey,  and  at 
Lawrence,  Massachusetts.  If  one  desires  to  learn  the  truth 
in  regard  to  the  causes  that  make  for  class-hatreds,  let  him 
mingle  with  the  non-union  men  employed  in  some  of  our 
great  industries.  These  men,  denied  by  their  employers  the 
right  of  organization,  compelled  to  work  long  hours  for  low 
wages,  frequently  hate  their  employers  with  an  intensity 
that  results  in  scenes  of  turmoil  and  disorder  when  strikes 
take  place. 

Trade-unions  strive  for  peace  based  upon  industrial  right- 


AN  ECONOMIC  NECESSITY  197 

eousness.  A  strike,  nevertheless,  is  of  itself  neither  illegal 
nor  immoral.  On  the  contrary,  a  strike  may  be,  and  often 
is,  a  manifestation  of  a  wholesome,  yea,  even  a  divine,  dis 
content.  Said  Abraham  Lincoln,  in  a  speech  delivered  at 
Hartford,  Connecticut,  in  1860:  "Thank  God,  we  have  a 
system  of  labor  where  there  can  be  a  strike.  Whatever  the 
pressure,  there  is  a  point  where  the  workingman  may  stop." 

Quite  apart,  however,  from  constitutional  and  legal  con 
siderations,  it  must  be  obvious  to  all  thoughtful  men  and 
women,  especially  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  struggles 
of  the  wage-earning  masses  for  more  humane  conditions  of 
employment,  for  better  living  opportunities,  that  it  would 
be  ethically  wrong  to  consider  labor  and  the  products  of 
labor  as  if  they  were  one  and  the  same  thing.  It  must  be 
clear  that  associations  formed  for  the  sole  purpose  of  pro 
tecting  and  promoting  the  welfare  of  the  men  and  women 
and  children  who  labor  should  not  be  placed  by  the  law  in 
the  same  category  with  monopolies  or  combinations  or 
ganized  for  profit,  and  be  condemned  as  unlawful  conspira 
cies  in  restraint  of  trade. 

"Organizations  of  labor,"  says  Samuel  Gompers,  Presi 
dent  of  the  American  Federation  of  Labor,  "have  their 
origin  in  human  need,  they  seek  human  welfare  and  better 
ment,  they  have  to  do  with  human  labor-power.  Capitalis 
tic  monopolies  have  their  origin  in  desire  for  great  profit, 
they  seek  economic  control  and  the  elimination  of  competi 
tive  rivals,  they  deal  in  material  things  —  the  products  of 
labor,  wealth.  Between  wealth  and  labor  there  is  a  vital 
and  fundamental  difference,  an  understanding  of  which  is 
essential  to  those  upon  whom  falls  the  responsibility  of  deal 
ing  with  matters  influencing  the  freedom  of  men.  Wealth 
consists  in  material  things  which  are  external,  useful,  and 
appropriable.  Wealth  is  that  which  a  man  has  —  not  what 
he  is.  To  classify  skill,  knowledge,  labor-power  as  wealtlris 


198  TRADE-UNIONISM 

an  error  that  has  crept  into  the  thinking  of  some  economists 
and  political  scientists.  It  is  an  error  conducive  to  grave 
injury  to  the  working  people.  These  attainments  or  attri 
butes  are  not  possessions  of  the  individual:  they  are  the 
individual,  and  cannot  be  separated  from  personality.  Cul 
tivation  of  powers  and  ability  increases  and  enriches  the 
resourcefulness  and  efficiency  of  the  individual;  but  these 
things  are  subjective  and  immaterial,  and  are  not  in  them 
selves  wealth.  The  individual  may  be  able  and  powerful, 
and  therefore  fortunate,  but  it  does  not  necessarily  follow 
therefrom  that  he  is  wealthy.  The  wealth  that  he  may 
produce  is  separate  and  distinct  from  himself.  It  follows, 
then,  that  to  apply  to  voluntary  associations  of  working 
people  (commonly  called  labor-organizations),  which  are 
concerned  with  individuals  and  their  powers,  the  same 
regulations  that  are  applied  to  organizations  manipulating 
the  products  of  labor,  would  lead  to  mischievous  results 
and  perversion  of  justice." 

Unrestricted  competition  of  labor  —  that  is,  non-union 
ism —  finds  its  natural  and  inevitable  sequence  in  the 
sweat-shop  and  the  slum;  it  finds  its  logical  expression  at 
Lawrence,  at  Paterson,  at  McKee's  Rocks,  at  Bethlehem, 
and  in  the  mining  fields  of  West  Virginia.  Unrestricted 
competition  of  labor  is  portrayed  by  Millet,  and  depicted 
by  Markham  in  "The  Man  with  the  Hoe." 

The  suggestion,  heard  in  more  than  one  quarter,  that 
trade-unionism  is  in  conflict  with  the  law  and  the  state,  or 
that  trade-unionists  wage  war  on  society,  has  no  founda 
tion  in  fact.  Trade-unionism  stands  for  the  constructive 
development  of  society;  it  seeks  the  more  equitable  distribu 
tion  of  wealth,  in  order  that  all  our  people  may  develop  to 
the  extent  of  their  highest  and  best  possibilities.  In  contra 
diction  to  the  dire  apprehensions  sometimes  expressed  by 
critics  and  opponents  of  trade-unionism,  listen  to  the  words 


AN  ECONOMIC  NECESSITY  199 

of  the  great  English  statesman,  William  E.  Gladstone: 
"Trade-unions  are  the  bulwarks  of  modern  democracies'*; 
to  those  of  Wendell  Phillips:  "I  rejoice  at  every  effort 
workingmen  make  to  organize.  I  hail  the  labor  movement; 
it  is  my  only  hope  for  democracy.  Organize  and  stand  to 
gether;  let  the  nations  hear  a  united  demand  from  the  la 
boring  voice!"  Again,  hear  Thorold  Rogers,  during  his  life 
Professor  of  Political  Economy  at  the  University  of  Ox 
ford  :  "  I  look  to  the  trade-unions  as  the  principal  means  for 
benefiting  the  working  classes";  and  Mr.  Taft,  when  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States:  "Time  was  when  everybody  who 
employed  labor  was  opposed  to  the  labor-union;  when  it 
was  regarded  as  a  menace.  That  time,  I  am  glad  to  say,  has 
largely  passed  away,  and  the  man  to-day  who  objects  to 
the  organization  of  labor  should  be  relegated  to  the  last 
century." 

Notwithstanding  the  splendid  work  and  the  great 
achievements  of  the  organized  wage-earners  in  protecting 
those  in  our  social  and  industrial  life  who  are  least  able  to 
protect  themselves,  efforts  are  constantly  being  made  to 
discredit  and  destroy  the  trade-unions.  Open  foes  and  pro 
fessing  friends  alike  have  sought  their  undoing,  the  former 
by  siege  or  assault,  the  latter  by  insidious  attempts  to 
divert  them  from  the  course  they  have  pursued  so  success 
fully.  And  yet  every  year  the  unions  grow  in  strength,  in 
numbers,  and  in  influence;  they  grow  in  the  affections  of 
the  wage-earners;  they  grow  in  the  respect  of  fair-minded 
employers;  they  grow  in  the  esteem  of  right-thinking  men 
and  women  everywhere. 

The  critics  of  trade-union  policy  have  suggested  that  the 
employer  "introduce  into  his  shops  carefully  worked-out 
plans  for  helping  the  operatives  to  rise  in  life,  to  better 
conditions  by  welf are-work,  to  encourage  savings  and  thrift, 
to  introduce  the  stimulus  of  profit-sharing."  I  have  no 


200  TRADE-UNIONISM 

desire  or  disposition  to  detract  from  the  value  of  welfare- 
work;  on  the  contrary,  I  wish  to  commend  every  employer 
who  undertakes,  at  his  own  expense,  to  improve  and  make 
more  pleasant  and  wholesome  the  conditions  under  which 
his  employees  work.  Welfare-work,  however,  is  not  a  sub 
stitute  for  wages.  If  the  employer  desires  to  supplement  the 
wages  agreed  to  between  himself  and  the  union,  such  action 
is  not  inimical  to  trade-unionism  and  may  be  of  great  value 
to  all  concerned;  but  the  workingmen  will  not  be  lured  by 
any  device  from  their  allegiance  to  trade-unionism;  they 
will  not  accept  welfare-work  or  profit-sharing  in  lieu  of  just 
wages  and  the  right  to  organize;  they  will  not,  and  should 
not,  depend  upon  Lords  Bountiful  and  Ladies  Charitable; 
they  prefer  to  depend  upon  themselves  and  their  trade- 
unions  as  the  means  through  which  to  work  out  their 
economic  salvation. 


THE    ETHICS    OF    SPECULATION 

CHARLES  F.  DOLE 

THE  preachers  and  moralists  call  this  a  materialistic  age- 
They  deplore  the  mad  rush  of  multitudes  to  "get  rich" 
quickly.  They  call  attention  to  the  colossal  fortunes  which 
have  been  piled  up  by  the  kings  of  finance  and  industry,  at 
the  expense  of  the  poor,  within  a  single  generation. 

Everyone  agrees  that  this  eager  pursuit  of  wealth  is 
somehow  related  to  speculative  methods  in  business.  A  con 
siderable  class  of  men  are  known  as  speculators.  The  great 
stock  and  produce  exchanges  in  every  big  city  are  centres  of 
feverish  speculation.  The  quotations  and  fluctuations  of 
stock  are  published  in  all  the  newspapers.  Farmers  in  dis 
tant  country  towns,  ministers,  often  women,  watch  these 
quotations,  telegraph  orders  to  their  brokers,  and  lie  awake 
nights  in  alternate  hope  or  fear.  Periods  of  panic  sweep  like 
storms  over  the  market,  new  deals  are  made,  and  fortunes 
are  won  or  lost  in  a  day.  Tragedies,  suicides,  nervous  pros 
tration,  and  insanity  follow  these  speculative  fluctuations 
of  value  in  the  staples  and  the  wealth  of  the  world.  Every 
one  is  interested  perforce  in  this  aspect  of  modern  business. 
The  successes  and  the  ruin  involved  in  both  great  and  small 
speculation  appeal  to  the  popular  imagination,  sometimes 
with  a  wholesome  alarm,  and  again,  more  dangerously,  with 
a  zest  to  enter  into  the  arena  and  take  its  gilded  ventures. 
It  is  difficult  to  see  how  the  fineness  of  moral  standards,  the 
delicacy  of  spiritual  insight,  the  ideals  of  public  service,  or 
the  purity  of  domestic  life  can  help  suffering  blight  in  the 
prevalence  of  an  atmosphere  of  speculation. 

We  are  generally  agreed  that  what  is  known  as  gambling 


202  THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION 

is  pernicious  and  demoralizing  to  both  winners  and  losers; 
that  is,  it  is  "wicked."  We  manage  occasionally  to  catch  in 
the  meshes  of  our  system  of  law  the  frequenters  of  gambling- 
houses  or  Chinese  dives,  and  we  have  largely  driven  the 
lottery  out  of  existence  and  made  it  disreputable.  We  are 
waging  a  legal  battle  against  pool-selling,  and  public  opin 
ion  is  already  attacking  the  nuisance  of  the  "bucket-shop," 
which  fatally  lures  multitudes  of  the  poor  to  loss  and  many 
a  young  clerk  to  dishonor  and  ruin.  Where  now  is  the 
dividing  line  between  undisguised  gambling  and  the  enor 
mous  transactions  on  the  stock  exchange?  In  other  words, 
is  speculation  always  gambling?  And  if  not,  if  speculation  is 
sometimes  right,  when  does  it  cease  to  be  right  and  become 
wrong?  Moreover,  what, precisely,  is  the  harm  in  gambling 
itself,  —  a  new  crime  in  the  world,  unknown  as  such  to  our 
fathers,  —  provided  one  can  afford  to  lose  the  amount  of 
the  stakes?  These  questions, important  as  they  are,  are  not 
so  simple  as  they  may  at  first  appear. 

Let  us  be  sure  that  we  approach  our  question  with  candor 
and  without  any  cant.  We  must  admit,  to  begin  with,  that 
we  are  all  materialists,  though  we  hope  that  we  are  not 
mere  materialists.! All  civilization  proceeds  upon  material 
foundations.  Wealth  is  evidently  the  sum  of  .the  outward 
values  by  which  man  on  his  physical  side  holds  the  earth./ 
It  is  a  kind  of  power,  whether  held  individually  or  by 
society.  We  learn  all  higher  and  spiritual  values,  justice, 
integrity,  faithfulness  —  the  conduct  of  "the  simple  life" 
itself  —  through  the  accurate  and  honest  use  of  material 
values.  If  it  is  not  unworthy  to  love  to  exercise  power,  it 
cannot  be  unworthy  to  be  pleased  to  handle  wealth. 

Again,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  liking  to  "get  rich" 
quickly.  Let  us  call  things  by  their  right  names.  Avarice, 
greed,  injustice  are  wrong;  they  hurt  society  and  dwarf  a 
man's  own  soul.  But  we  are  made  to  enjoy  success  in  what- 


THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION  203 

ever  we  do.  Does  not  a  farmer  like  to  have  a  grand  crop  — 
a  hundredfold  over  what  he  put  into  the  ground?  Does  not 
every  fisherman  like  to  strike  a  school  of  mackerel  or  blue- 
fish?  All  inventions  and  the  labor-saving  application  of 
natural  powers  are  simply  means  to  bring  about  the  most 
rapid  production  of  wealth.  The  complaint  never  ought  to 
be  that  riches  are  produced  too  rapidly,  but  that  they  are 
not  fairly  distributed. 

Moreover,  there  is  doubtless  a  speculative  element,  a  fac 
tor  of  venture  or  "chance,"  in  all  human  enterprises.  This 
element,  called  wrongly  sometimes  "a  gamble,"  was  quite  as 
prevalent  in  the  primitive  industries  as  it  is  anywhere  to 
day.  Hunting  and  fishing  were  largely  matters  of  "luck." 
The  early  unscientific  agriculture  seemed  to  depend  on  a 
series  of  lucky  chances.  There  are  some  kinds  of  business 
to-day  that  are  from  their  nature  especially  speculative :  for 
example,  mining,  and  the  establishment  of  a  thousand  and 
one  new  undertakings  in  food  and  clothing  and  domestic 
furniture/  The  telephone  was  thus,  at  first,  a  great  specula 
tive  venture.  But  this  element  of  hazard  did  not  make  it 
wrong  to  buy  its  stock  at  a  few  dollars  a  share.  In  fact,  if 
some  people  had  not  believed  in  it  and  risked  their  money, 
the  wTorld  would  have  had  to  wait  indefinitely  for  the  use  of 
this  wonderful  new  instrument  of  civilization.  We  suspect 
that  even  Mr.  Emerson  would  have  been  pleased  with  the 
results,  if  he  had  trusted  the  proceeds  of  one  of  his  lectures 
in  the  infant  enterprise. 

^Alongside  of,  and  involved  with,  this  unknown  element  of 
venture,  "chance,"  or  speculation  in  all  human  enterprise, 
is  the  constant  factor  of  intelligence,  skill,  forethought,  pur 
pose,  experience  —  all  of  them  names  for  some  form  of 
effort,  activity,  and  cost.  We  draw  on  the  more  or  less  un 
known  forces  of  nature,  which  continually  challenge  us  to 
watchfulness,  to  patience,  to  accurate  investigation,  to  the 


204  THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION 

use  of  all  our  faculties  and  our  energy.  The  best,  or  most 
successful,  man  is  he  who  invests,  and  ventures  the  utmost 
skill  and  force  of  will  in  his  enterprise. 
>  A  profound  law  governs  the  processes  of  civilization. 
The  law  is  that  the  civilized  man  always  tends  to  minimize 
the  variable  element,  or  the  risks  of  his  business,  and  to  de 
pend  more  and  more  largely  upon  the  use  of  clearly  defined 
and  intelligible  means,  the  result  of  his  own  observation  and 
of  the  widening  experience  of  the  race.  Everything  indus 
trial  becomes  a  science^  The  expert  endeavors  to  predict 
how  much  gold  or  copper  will  be  produced  to  every  ton  of 
the  ore.  Science  teaches  the  farmer  or  the  fisherman  the 
conditions  upon  which  he  may  quite  confidently  expect  the 
largest  possible  yield.  We  shall  have  occasion  presently  to 
refer  again  to  this  significant  law  of  progress  in  industrial 
civilization,  whereby  all  legitimate  business  tends  to  be 
come  less  a  mere  speculation  and  more  completely  a  science. 

Let  us  now  try  to  see  just  what  the  mischief  is  in  gam 
bling.  Here  is  a  familiar  sport  of  all  barbarous  peoples. 
The  savage  wants  excitement,  and  finds  it  in  venturing 
everything  that  he  owns,  even  his  wife  or  his  own  person. 
The  idle  classes  in  a  modern  city  gamble  likewise  for  excite 
ment,  to  titillate  their  jaded  nerves.  Thus,  bridge-whist, 
with  its  genteel  stakes,  represents  the  survival  of  a  very 
ancient  form  of  barbarism. 

Gambling  needs  to  be  distinguished  from  good  sport,  as 
also  from  good  business.  In  true  sport  the  element  of  intel 
lect,  patience,  attention,  activity,  rises  in  value,  and  the 
factor  of  chance  declines.  The  better  the  sport,  the  greater 
the  activity  of  body  or  mind,  the  less  the  need  of  extra  or 
factitious  excitement.  The  players  in  the  football  game  or 
at  chess  need  least  of  all  to  bet  on  their  own  success. 
They  have  "fun"  enough  in  the  effort  itself.  It  is  the  idle 
minds  with  lazy  and  unintellectual  games,  or  the  hangers- 


THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION  205 

on,  watching  the  games  of  others,  who  buy  a  cheap  excite 
ment  by  betting  on  the  sport.  Theirs  is  not  true  sport.  In 
fact,  the  more  the  brains  or  the  skill  are  used  in  a  sport,  the 
less  use  have  any  civilized  players  for  going  over  into  the 
field  of  gambling.  Pure  gambling  is  based  on  ignorance;  it 
deals  in  what  we  call  "chance."  Thus,  throwing  dice  is  a 
pure  gambling  game,  for  the  reason  that  intelligence  has  no 
possible  exercise  in  its  use.  On  the  other  hand,  the  more 
skill  or  intelligence  enters  into  a  sport,  the  greater  becomes 
the  folly  of  those  who,  with  little  or  no  skill,  put  up  their 
stakes  on  the  mere  chances  of  the  game. 

What  harm,  however,  is  there  if  the  players  like  to  en 
hance  their  fun  by  the  excitement  of  putting  up  stakes? 
One  easy  answer  is  that  the  friendly  or  neighborly  instinct 
in  us  is  more  or  less  offended  in  pocketing  even  a  small  gain 
at  another's  loss.  This  is  a  rational  instinct,  which  grows 
stronger  and  more  sensitive  as  one  becomes  more  humane 
and  kindly,  and  especially  as  we  set  before  ourselves  the 
ideal  of  living  on  terms  of  good-will  with  all  men. 

/But  the  supreme  objection  to  gambling  in  all  its  forms, 
whether  in  sport  or  in  sj^eculative  business,  is  that  it  works 
harm  and  loss  to  society^  As  soon  as  any  practice  or  con 
duct  is  found  to  be  socially  hurtful,  it  thereby  becomes 
wrong,  whatever  men  may  have  thought  of  it  before.  Does 
not  all  morality  rise  to  consciousness  through  the  fact  of 
social  advantage  or  injury?  Now, the  long  and  costly  expe 
rience  of  mankind  bears  uniform  testimony  against  gam 
bling,  till  at  last  the  verdict  of  civilization  has  become  as 
nearly  unanimous  as  human  judgment  can  be,  that  it  is  an 
intolerable  nuisance.  It  is  a  dangerous  and  unsocial  form  of 
excitement;  it  hurts  character,  demoralizes  industry,  breeds 
quarrels,  tempts  men  to  self-destruction;  and  it  works 
special  injustice  to  women  and  children.  We  may  not  know 
precisely  why  morphine  preys  upon  the  nervous  system  and 


206  THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION 

has  to  be  labeled  "poisonous."  The  fact  is  the  main  consid 
eration.  So  with  the  stimulus  or  excitation  of  gambling. 
Grant  that  I  profess  myself  willing  to  pay  for  my  fun.  The 
fun  is  degrading,  like  the  prize  fight  or  bear-baiting. 

But  suppose,  says  the  casuist,  that  the  players  have 
plenty  of  good-humor,  and  self-control  enough  not  to  take 
unreasonable  risks.  Suppose  that  mildest  form  of  gambling, 
the  raffle  at  a  church  fair,  where  a  hundred  people  take 
tickets  to  pay  for  a  piano,  and  then  cast  lots  —  surely  a 
scriptural  method  —  to  determine  who  shall  have  the  quite 
indivisible  prize.  The  answer  is  that,  at  the  best,  you,  the 
enlightened  leaders  of  public  opinion,  who  set  up  your  tiny 
stakes  and  raffle  in  church  lotteries,  are  playing  about  the 
edge  of  the  very  precipice  which  your  own  laws  have  marked 
"dangerous"  for  the  public.  Who  are  you, who  ask  the  spe 
cial  privilege  of  doing  what  you  deem  it  foolish  or  wicked  for 
common  people  to  do?  Moreover,  the  more  "reasonable" 
you  make  the  stakes  of  respectable  gaming,  or  of  gambling 
speculation,  the  tamer  the  game  is.  If  you  want  extra  ex 
citement  beyond  what  grows  out  of  the  normal  use  of  skill 
and  intelligence,  you  must  bid  high  enough  to  hurt  you  a 
little  when  you  come  to  lose.  In  other  words,  the  psycho 
logical  principle  that  underlies  all  craving  for  factitious 
excitements  makes  "reasonable"  gambling  either  worthless 
for  the  purpose  of  excitement,  or  else  a  practical  impos 
sibility.  The  truth  is  that  the  normal  interests,  of  society 
grow  continually  more  cooperative  or  mutual,  Gambling, 
on  the  other  hand,  is  by  its  nature  divisive  and  there 
fore  unsocial.  It  sets  meum  over  against  tuum,  my  gain 
against  another's  loss.  Even  in  its  more  refined  forms,  this 
tendency  in  gambling  threatens  petty  jealousies,  suspicion, 
and  alienation. 

It  is  a  dry  task  and  comparatively  unprofitable  merely 
to  say,  "Thou  shalt  not."  Let  us  pass  over  now  to  the  more 


THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION  207 

fruitful  and  constructive  side  of  our  subject.  Let  us  trace 
the  grand  and  positive  law  that  determines  and  inspires  all 
legitimate  business.  Let  us  define  what  is  good  business, 
and  we  shall  at  once  set  all  kinds  of  bad  business  aside. 
The  simple  law,  governing  all  social  activity,  is  that  each 
individual  ought  in  some  way  to  render  at  least  an  equiva 
lent  service  for  all  that  he  draws  or  uses  out  of  the  common 
wealth.  If  you  live  in  society,  you  must  perform  some  use 
ful  function  whereby  to  justify  your  existence.  If  the  indi 
vidual  cell  in  the  body  only  uses  up  and  exhausts  energy, 
without  contributing  any  corresponding  service,  here  is  the 
beginning  of  death,  menacing  the  whole  body.  If  the  tiny 
cell  functions  abnormally,  putting  its  force  or  its  substance 
to  hurtful  uses,  here  is  a  sort  of  fever  or  disease.  Give  ac 
count  of  yourself,  says  the  body  of  society  to  every  mem 
ber  or  part;  show  what  you  are  about;  of  what  use  you  are; 
why  you  should  eat  and  drink  and  be  clothed  out  of  the 
life-blood  of  society. 

The  Day  of  Judgment  is  coming  sooner  than  many  peo 
ple  are  aware.  The  multitudes  of  the  working  people  of  the 
world  are  pressing  with  a  new  significance  these  searching 
and  inevitable  questions  of  social  justice.  There  is  no  such 
thing  to-day  as  individual  independence  or  national  inde 
pendence.  All  men  in  all  nations  are  dependent  upon  one 
another,  involved  in  a  vast  network  of  mutual  services  and 
obligations.  There  is  nothing  to  which  a  man,  whether  a 
capitalist  or  a  workman,  can  point  and  say,  "This  is  all 
mine.  I  created  it.";  All  the  men  in  the  world  who  are  of 
any  use,  besides  a  host  of  the  inventors  and  toilers  of  past 
ages,  stand  behind  every  act  of  creation  or  discovery  or 
manufacture  and  claim  their  share  in  it.  It  is  idle  merely 
to  "  say  grace  "  over  our  food.  It  is  necessary  to  give  thanks 
in  the  only  way,  under  God's  laws,  by  which  we  can  render 
efficient  thanks,  namely,  by  trying  at  least,  with  all  our 


208  THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION 

might,  to  do  our  part  to  keep  up  the  mighty  tide  of  the  cir 
culation  of  the  life  of  the  world.  This  is  to  give  thanks  to 
God  through  our  mutual  service  to  one  another.  So  far 
from  high  position  or  wealth  exempting  anyone  from  this 
law,  the  obligation  is  only  made  greater.  This  ought  to  be 
obvious  enough  to  everyone  who  has  ever  begun  to  ask  the 
question,  "Where  does  my  living  come  from?  " 

It  is  easy  at  once  to  illustrate  how  this  law  actually  ap 
plies  to  one  after  another  of  the  trades  and  professions  by 
which  men  "earn  a  living."  Every  trade  and  occupation  as 
it  comes  up  to-day  for  judgment  is  either  approved  or  re 
pudiated  according  to  the  answer  of  the  men  who  carry  it 
on  to  the  question,  "How  are  you  serving  society?"  The 
farmers,  for  example,  and  a  whole  line  of  honest  tradesmen, 
easily  answer  this  question.  But  what  if  the  farmer  only 
raises  rye  or  corn  to  turn  into  whiskey?  Men's  consciences 
already  are  righteously  vexed  over  such  issues  as  this.  The 
teachers  and  educators  easily  pass  the  judgment  seat.  But 
suppose  the  teacher  works  for  his  hire  and  not  for  the  sake 
of  his  pupils?  The  good  doctors  and  nurses  evidently  justify 
their  calling.  The  lawyers  must  pass  examination  at  a  more 
tremendous  bar  than  any  of  their  courts.  Are  they  serving 
justice  and  helping  to  make  justice  prevail  in  the  world? 
No  glory  of  splendid  fees  will  protect  the  man  who  has 
to  say,  No,  to  this  master  question.  The  ministers  and 
churches  may  well  tremble  at  the  new  judgment.  Either 
their  religion  must  make  life  in  every  way  richer,  or  else  the 
world  has  no  further  use  for  them. 

We  are  ready  now  to  distinguish  between  that  which  is 
socially  useful  and  that  which  is  injurious  in  business.  Any 
honest  man  ought  to  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
his  business  carries  some  wholesome  use  or  service  for  his 
fellows.  For  example,  our  grocer  or  our  baker  may  be  sure, 
if  honest,  that  he  serves  society  by  the  distribution  of  its 


THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION  209 

products,  as  truly  as  ever  soldier  or  policeman  is  supposed 
to  serve  it.  His  purpose  to  this  effect  gives  him  the  same 
dignity  as  any  honorable  profession  gives  its  members. 

Suppose,  now,  a  man  gets  his  living  by  gambling.  Pos 
sibly  he  keeps  a  gambling  house,  or  he  may  be  a  "profes 
sional"  gambler,  or  he  may  have  made  lucky  guesses  or  bets 
in  the  stock  market.  His  living  certainly  comes  out  of  the 
toil  of  the  people  who  work  in  fields  and  factories,  or,  any 
how,  out  of  the  people  who,  by  the  use  of  their  directing 
intelligence  or  by  their  wisdom  or  their  active  virtue,  add 
in  some  way  to  the  value  and  worth  of  life.-  This  man  has 
done  neither.  Every  successful  gambling  transaction  of  his 
has  simply  put  moneys  into  his  pocket  which  other  people 
somewhere  have  earned.  Why  is  not  this  the  essence  of 
stealing?  Everyone  would  see  that  this  is  so,  if  the  more 
subtle  gambling  transactions  were  not  veiled  behind  the 
vastly  impersonal  character  of  modern  business.  The  man 
who  lives  by  gambling  speculations  sees  his  winnings,  while 
unfortunately  he  is  rarely  able  to  look  into  the  faces  of  the 
people  who  are  made  poorer  by  the  fact  of  his  parasitism. 

The  imagination  that  revolts  at  the  idea  of  hurting  a  man 
is  not  yet  sufficiently  trained  to  revolt  at  the  idea  of  preying 
upon  a  corporation,  upon  a  city,  upon  the  national  govern 
ment,  upon  the  corporate  body  of  human  society.  The  fact 
remains  that  the  men  whose  business  consists  only  in  some 
form  of  betting  upon  the  daily  fluctuations  of  the  values  of 
the  world  evidently  take  from  society,  that  is,  from  all  of 
us,  that  for  which  they  give  no  honorable  return. 

Pure  gambling,  however,  as  a  means  of  livelihood,  is 
practically  almost  impossible.  The  unwritten  laws  of  the 
world  are  against  it.  As  has  often  been  said,  it  is  not  so  much 
wickedness  as  folly.  The  gamblers,  whether  at  the  faro 
table  or  in  the  bucket  shops,  obviously  have  to  support  the 
group  of  parasites  who  in  turn  wait  upon  them;  and  the 

15 


210  THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION 

sum  of  all  their  winnings  must  always  be  less  than  the 
amount  of  their  losses.  In  the  long  run,  they  can  make  suc 
cess  only  by  fraud,  or,  as  occasionally  on  the  stock  exchange, 
by  "tips,"  or  bits  of  secret  information,  imparted  by  saga 
cious  friends  who  possess  previous  or  exceptional  knowledge 
about  the  conditions  of  the  market.  Most  of  the  gambling 
of  the  world  is,  therefore,  synonymous  with  ignorance,  and 
will  give  way  only  before  the  increase  of  enlightenment. 
No  stringent  laws  against  it  are  enough  by  themselves  to 
prevent  silly  lambs  from  offering  themselves  to  be  shorn. 
We  have  admitted  that  there  is  a  necessary  element  of 
speculation  or  venture  in  all  enterprises.  Is  there  such  a 
thing  as  honorable  or  useful  speculation?  It  is  at  this  point 
that  the  chief  difficulty  of  our  subject  lies.  There  are  three 
lines  of  justification  of  legitimate  speculation.  The  orig 
inal  meaning  of  the  word  speculate  suggests  one  use  to  which 
society  puts  a  certain  class  of  its  members.  They  are  scouts 
or  outrunners,  who,  by  their  far  sight  or  mobility,  explore 
new  routes  by  which  the  marching  caravan  behind  them 
may  proceed,  or  discover  treasures  and  supplies  for  the 
benefit  of  the  rest.  The  inventors  and  promoters  are  thus 
surely  useful  to  the  slower  and  cautious  multitude.  No  one 
grudges  them  generous  return  for  their  forethought,  pa 
tience,  courage,  and  faith.  The  trouble  with  this  class  of 
speculators  is  that  they  have  frequently  failed  entirely  to 
see  their  relation  to  society.  Their  honorable  business  is  to 
serve  all  of  us.  They  have  heretofore  been  suffered  to  imag 
ine  that  they  could  appropriate  for  their  selfish  use  what 
ever  they  might  lay  their  eyes  upon.  Sent  forward  as  scouts 
from  the  main  body,  upon  whose  approach  they  always 
reckon,  and  by  whose  continued  support  they  are  enabled 
to  exist,  they  have  confidently  written  their  own  names 
as  proprietors  upon  the  lands,  the  springs  of  water,  the  for 
ests,  the  minerals,  and  all  those  natural  resources  which 


THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION  211 

rightly  belong  to  the  body  of  society  —  never  to  a  few  of  its 
members. 

I  There  is,  then,  a  kind  of  speculation  which  is  itself  right 
eous,  namely,  the  discovery  and  promotion  of  new  means 
of  wealth.  The  injustice  begins  when  men  set  an  excessive 
price  of  then*  own  on  their  work,  as  if  they  had  performed 
an  act  of  original  creation.  We  can  applaud  Mr.  Carnegie's 
and  Mr.  Rockefeller's  enterprise,  but  we  denounce  their 
system  of  tariff,  their  manipulation  of  railways,  and  their 
appropriation  of  mineral  lands,  through  which  their  specu 
lation  has  passed  over  from  useful  social  service  into  the 
form  of  colossal  extortion.  We  cannot  even  see  the  social 
use  of  any  sort  which  has  attended  the  building  of  the  Astor 
and  other  similar  fortunes.  The  scout  in  this  case  has  merely 
seized  and  fortified  a  height  above  the  city  and  become  a 
robber-baron.  We  must  say,  however,  by  way  of  excuse, 
that  these  men  have  turned  to  their  own  selfish  use  legal 
enactments  for  which  we  are  all  responsible. 

A  second  use  of  the  speculator  is  as  an  appraiser  of  values. 
Here  is  the  social  use  of  the  stock  and  produce  exchanges. 
For  the  economists  tell  us  that  the  maddening  din  of  the 
vast  exchange  is  not  for  nothing.  The  men  penned  there 
together  like  gladiators  are  helping  to  fix,  and  even  to  main 
tain,  the  values  of  the  great  staples  of  the  world,  —  the 
wheat  and  the  cotton,  —  or,  again,  the  values  of  innumera 
ble  stocks  and  bonds.  Grant  this  fact  if  you  will.  Ask  next, 
who  these  people  are  who  are  crying  prices  up  or  down. 
'.There  are  really  two  sets  of  speculators,  present  in  person 
or  by  proxy.  One  set  are  actual  experts  in  valuation,  whose 
business  it  is,  as  dealers  or  as  manufacturers,  to  study  crops 
and  harvests  and  movements  of  traffic  and  labor.  These 
men  are  playing  the  game  by  the  use  of  experience  and  in 
telligence.  They  have  a  certain  normal  relation  to  the 
values  in  which  they  are  dealing.  It  is  evidently  these  men 


212  THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION 

alone,  —  only  a  limited  number,  —  who  at  the  best  can 
claim  to  confer  a  social  service  by  their  speculations.  These 
men  also  tacitly  obey  the  law  of  which  we  have  spoken 
earlier.  They  tend  always  to  minimize  the  element  of  ven 
ture  and  to  make  their  business  as  largely  as  they  can  a 
matter  of  intelligence  and  science.  In  other  words,  the 
good  speculators  endeavor,  not  to  gamble,  but  to  know. 
So  far  as  they  break  this  law,  they  injure  society  and  put 
back  the  course  of  civilized  business.  ;Their  valid  use  is  to 
establish  values,  and  not  to  manipulate  them;  to  maintain 
the  health  of  business,  and  not  to  provoke  fever  and  excite 
ment.  Let  any  professional  speculator  then  be  ready  to 
answer  this  question:  What  effect,  beneficent  or  otherwise, 
have  such  transactions  as  mine  upon  the  economical  health 
of  the  world?  It  is  a  shame  to  a  man  if  he  can  give  no  hon 
orable  answer  to  this  question.  Moreover,  society  is  going 
to  press  this  question  till  men  who  cannot  answer  it  will  feel 
the  shame. 

Another  group  —  a  very  large  one,  by  all  accounts  —  re 
presented  in  the  transactions  of  the  speculative  exchanges 
a^*e  people  who  are  only  ignorant  guessers  or  bettors.  No 
doubt,  they  often  act  under  advice  of  their  brokers,  but 
they  contribute  no  particle  of  intelligent  study  in  the  ap 
praisement  of  values.  This  class  surely  are  of  no  sound 
economic  use  in  crowding  upon  the  market.  So  far  from 
helping  to  fix  or  maintain  values,  they  probably  add  an 
element  of  exaggeration,  excitement,  and  peril  to  the  con 
duct  of  business.  Their  presence  and  the  stakes  which  they 
wager  tempt  the  bonafide,  or  expert,  class  of  speculators  to 
play  upon  their  hopes  and  their  fears,  and  to  create  artifi 
cial  "booms "  or  panics,  and  actually  to  unsettle  values.  In 
short  the  people  who  "take  flyers"  are  mostly  gamblers 
pure  and  simple.  They  pay  their  money  to  support  a  con 
siderable  and  expensive  group  of  bankers  and  brokers.  To 


THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION  213 

the  honest  question:  What  actual  social  service  do  you 
render  through  your  speculative  transactions,  such  as  might 
justify  you  in  pocketing  your  expected  winnings,  abstracted 
doubtless  from  the  common  wealth?  they  can  give  no  ra 
tional  answer.  They  are  not  merely  trying  to  get  something 
for  nothing,  —  a  harmless  amusement,  —  but  they  are  try 
ing  to  get  what  does  not  belong  to  them. 
(  There  is  one  other  ground  on  which  a  class  of  somewhat 
irregular  speculators  stand.  They  have  a  possibly  legiti 
mate  function  as  traders.  Some  new  stock,  an  invention,  a 
Japanese  loan,  comes  into  view.  Our  speculator  believes  in 
the  enterprise;  he  takes  his  risk  with  it,  and  puts  up  his 
money  on  a  more  or  less  hazardous  margin,  and  buys.  He 
does  this  on  the  trader's  confidence  that  his  more  cautious 
neighbors  will  in  due  time  be  glad  to  take  the  load  off  his 
hands,  and  reward  him  for  holding  it  through  the  period  of 
their  uncertainty.  He  thus  helps  to  market  and  distribute 
investments  among  those  who  can  afford  later  to  hold  them 
permanently.  All  this  is  plausible.  His  gains  (if  he  makes 
them)  do  not  appear  to  come  out  of  the  losses  of  others,  but 
to  accrue  from  the  normal  rise  in  the  values  in  which  he  had 
trusted.  In  short,  the  speculator  in  this  case  is  a  kind  of 
promoter,  a  non-commissioned  agent  of  his  banker  and 
broker. 

The  ground  of  this  form  of  speculation,  however,  is 
rather  slippery.  Except  as  the  man  really  becomes  a  regu 
lar,  banker,  his  field  of  quite  honorable  operation  is  both 
perilous  and  limited.  Suppose  now  that,  from  helping  to 
market  promising  ventures,  he  goes  over  to  the  other  side, 
as  he  will  surely  be  tempted  to  do,  and  takes  an  amateur 
hand  in  knocking  values  downward.  Does  he  then  help  or 
harm  his  fellows?  Moreover,  his  only  chance  of  success  is 
by  virtue,  not  of  the  element  of  chance,  but  of  prevision, 
skill,  intelligence  —  all  very  rare  qualities,  for  the  lack  of 


214  THE  ETHICS  OF  SPECULATION 

which  ninety-nine  per  cent  of  the  people  who  try  to  follow 
his  example  will  inevitably  fail. 

The  pathos  of  speculation  lies  in  this  direction.  It  is  not 
wrong  that  the  village  schoolmaster,  or  the  country  minis 
ter,  or  the  dressmaker  with  her  scanty  earnings,  wishes  to 
have  a  share  in  the  fabulous  wealth  which  modern  society 
is  accumulating.  They  rightly  think  "it  would  be  fine"  if 
their  bit  of  investment  in  the  wonderful  mine  described  in 
their  denominational  journal  turns  out  as  successfully  as 
they  hope.  What  they  do  not  see  is  that  they  have  no  busi 
ness  to  hope  for  this  success;  they  do  not  know  enough.  No 
one  has  taught  them  that  every  useful  or  promising  kind  of 
speculation  depends  upon  effort,  skill,  experience,  the  play 
of  intelligence  upon  the  conditions  of  each  new  problem. 
Honorable  speculation  is  a  form  of  science.  It  is  never  mere 
cheap  guess-work.  But  these  innocent  people  —  a  great 
host  of  them  —  are  daily  matching  their  ignorance  against 
the  loaded  dice  of  those  whom  their  credulity  tempts  to 
make  a  business  of  floating  all  kinds  of  plausible  and 
worthless  enterprises. 

When  will  the  world  learn  the  supreme  law  of  life?  We 
have  no  right  to  expect  to  receive  when  we  give  no  equiv 
alent  return.  We  have  no  right  to  expect  ordinary  gains, 
unless  we  give  at  least  ordinary  service.  Much  less  have  we 
the  right  to  extra  gains  from  our  investments,  where  we  put 
in  no  extra  skill,  foresight,  or  other  form  of  service.  We  only 
make  fools  of  ourselves  in  expecting  great  dividends,  where 
we  have  not  the  least  knowledge  of  the  conditions  of  busi 
ness.  Indeed,  we  have  no  right  to  live,  even  upon  our  own 
incomes,  unless  we  are  trying  continually  to  make  good  to 
society  for  all  that  we  cost.  We  are  always  servants  and 
trustees  for  society,  or  else  we  are  robbing  our  fellows.  No 
success,  no  secure  or  permanent  happiness,  lies  away  from 
the  line  of  this  law. 


DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE? 

GINO   SPERANZA 

"I  HAVE  a  solemn  vow  registered  in  heaven  that  I  will 
preserve,  protect  and  defend  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States."  These  words,  spoken  by  President  Lincoln  at  a 
critical  moment  in  the  life  of  the  Republic,  are,  in  substance, 
what  the  alien  repeats  when  admitted  to  American  citizen 
ship.  Imagine,  however,  what  must  have  been  their  signifi 
cance  to  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  what,  at  best,  they  possibly 
can  mean  to  tens  of  thousands  of  "new  Americans "  when  re 
citing  them  in  the  oath  of  allegiance,  which  makes  them  our 
fellow  citizens !  And  yet  we  wonder  why  things  are  not  all 
as  they  should  be  to-day,  and  why  we  should  be  obliged  to 
ask  ourselves  again,  as  we  did  half  a  century  ago,  how  it 
is  that  "an  instructed  and  equal  people,  with  freedom  in 
every  form,  with  a  government  yielding  to  the  touch  of  pop 
ular  will  so  readily,  ever  would  come  to  the  trial  of  force 
against  it." 

Of  the  causes  behind  the  existing  unrest  this  paper  will 
attempt  to  deal  with  only  one  phase  —  our  attitude  and 
policy  toward  the  immigrant  as  a  potential  citizen,  premis 
ing  the  statement  that  such  attitude  and  policy  have  la 
bored  under  one  fundamental  error:  the  failure  to  distin 
guish  clearly  and  consistently  between  the  human  rights  of 
immigrants  and  their  political  rights,  between  our  human 
duties  toward  them  and  our  political  duties  toward  our  com 
monwealth.  To  their  human  rights  and  to  our  human  duties 
toward  them  we  shall  refer  here  only  incidentally,  dwelling 
instead  upon  the  study  of  a  policy  which  has  tended,  and 
tends,  to  grant  political  rights  to  very  large  numbers  of 


216      DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE? 

aliens  wholly  unprepared  for  American  life,  and  utterly  un 
qualified  for  participation  in  the  government. 

As  we  look  back,  we  see  that  three  methods  or  processes 
have  found  favor  among  us  at  various  times,  as  means  of 
converting  the  alien  into  an  American:  naturalization, 
assimilation,  and  Americanization.  The  first,  which  once 
was  supposed  to  possess  a  sort  of  special  sanctifying  grace 
per  se,  has  sunk  back  in  public  opinion  to  its  purely  legalistic 
function;  the  second  has  been  relegated  with  the  melting- 
pot  to  the  top  shelves  of  social  laboratories;  while  the  third 
is  now  the  object  of  a  nation-wide  "drive." 

There  is  something  both  stirring  and  touching  in  the  al 
most  religious  belief  that  many  Americans  held  regarding 
naturalization  in  the  early  days  of  immigration  to  this 
country:  they  honestly  and  sincerely  relied  upon  it  as  an 
almost  instant  solvent  for  changing  a  German  or  a  Swede 
into  an  American;  they  looked  upon  it,  in  their  intense 
patriotism,  as  a  rite  with  well-nigh  sacramental  and  mys 
tically  spiritual  effects. 

With  the  decline  of  the  belief  in  naturalization  as  an  in 
fallible  process  of  transformation,  there  came  into  favor, 
as  a  spiritual  aid  to  the  former,  the  less  legalistic  process  of 
assimilation.  The  method  sounded  logical  and  was  pic 
turesque  and  attractive.  We  all  fell  under  its  sway  more  or 
less,  especially  the  social  workers  and  the  schools  of  philan 
thropy.  It  was,  on  the  whole,  a  useful  movement,  not  only 
because  it  showed  the  essential  inadequacy  of  naturaliza 
tion,  but  especially  because  it  made  us  realize  very  vividly 
the  human  rights  of  the  alien  in  our  midst,  and  our  indiffer 
ence  to  such  rights. 

The  war,  which  passed  like  a  steam-roller  over  numberless 
favorite  and  popular  theories,  served  also  to  show  the 
limitations  of  assimilation  as  we  had  attempted  to  develop 
it,  and  the  strength  of  alien  nationalism,  even  —  and  indeed 


DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE?      217 

especially  —  in  what  we  had  hopefully  considered  safe  and 
"desirable'*  North-European  stock. 

The  ancient  problem  being  still  with  us,  and  looming 
large  on  the  background  of  present-day  labor  unrest, 
American  optimism  promptly  has  come  to  the  rescue  with 
a  new  and  sure  remedy  —  Americanization.  It  is  part  of 
our  enthusiastic  idealism,  part  of  our  "habit  of  practical 
performance,"  to  wish  to  correct  every  trouble  and  right 
every  wrong  quickly;  and,  in  order  to  do  it  quickly,  we  often 
refuse  to  see  any  subtle  and  intimate  complexity  in  the 
problems  which  confront  us,  but  cheerfully  and  rather 
naively  "simplify"  them  and  reduce  them  to  "essentials," 
which  can  be,  as  it  were,  surgically  treated  with  ease  and 
precision. 

But  there  are  problems  and  processes  so  obscure  and 
complex  in  their  causes,  so  slow,  intricate,  and  subtle  in 
their  development  and  ramifications,  as  to  be  refractory  to 
any  simplification  and  impossible  of  any  accelerated  or 
swift  solution.  One  of  these  is  Americanization,  which,  like 
every  essential  and  effective  change  of  nationality,  involves 
two  distinct  processes  and  two  vital  decisions  in  a  man's 
life:  a  divesting  one's  self  of  a  deep-rooted  patrimony  of 
ideas,  sentiments,  traditions,  and  interests,  and  an  honest 
and  whole-hearted  acceptance  of,  and  participation  in, 
an  entirely  new  set  of  ideas,  sentiments,  traditions,  and 
interests. 

In  order  to  grasp  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  real,  and, 
therefore,  of  the  only  worth-while  Americanization,  let  us 
consider  the  processes  involved  in  the  reversal  of  such  con 
version.  Think  how  suspicious  we  are  of  any  instance  of 
de-Americanization;  how  suspect,  for  instance,  to  the  popu 
lar  mind  is  the  Anglicization,  not  only  of  a  Waldorf  Astor, 
but  even  of  a  Henry  James,  and,  generally,  how  taboo  is  the 
man  who  "  turns."  Or  let  us  illustrate  the  process  on  a  large 


218      DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE? 

scale  as  being  nearer  to  our  own  problem:  let  us  suppose 
that  the  French  government,  or  a  large  section  of  the 
French  people,  had  decided  to  attempt  to  Gallicize  our  boys 
of  the  A.E.F.  while  they  were  in  France,  and  had  made  a 
nation-wide  "drive"  to  accomplish  it  in  five  years,  at  the 
end  of  which  time  any  of  our  men  who  said  they  wished  to 
change  would  have  been  admitted  to  French  citizenship. 
Will  any  American  claim  that  this  would  have  worked  at 
all,  or  that  the  French  citizens  thus  secured  would  have 
been  much  of  an  asset  or  a  help  to  the  French  nation? 

I  do  not  give  this  as  a  parallel  example  to  the  process  of 
Americanizing  our  immigrants;  but  I  do  contend  that,  on 
the  whole,  the  Gallicization  of  a  million  picked  American 
youths,  at  a  time  of  tense  and  stirring  life,  would  have  been 
infinitely  easier  and  more  possible  than  to  convert  a  million 
mixed  Syrian,  Russian,  Greek,  Slav,  and  Finnish  peasants 

—  or  even  French,  British,  and  Italian  subjects  —  into 
reliable  American  citizens,  as  we  claim  we  can  do  in  this 
country.  To  feel  that  the  powers  of  attraction  and  assimila 
tion  of  America  are  tremendous  is  both  true  and  patriotic; 
but  to  practise  the  belief  that  such  powers  can  work  miracles 

—  such  as  the  rapid  conversion  of  the  mixed  and  unstable 
immigrants  of  Europe  into  real  American  citizens — is  sheer 
superstition  and,  as  such,  the  child  of  ignorance. 

The  fact  is  that  there  is  much  loose  thinking,  inexact 
ness,  andsentimentalism  on  the  subject  of  Americanization. 
The  very  fact  that  the  first  professorship  of  Americaniza 
tion  in  this  country  was  fitted  into  a  department  of  politi 
cal  economy  indicates  how  even  trained  minds  tend  to  look 
at  the  process  from  too  narrow  a  standpoint:  for  might  it 
not  reasonably  be  urged,  with  equal  force,  that  American 
ization  belongs  rather  to  the  department  of  history,  or  of 
philosophy,  or  of  psychology? 

But  consider  some  of  the  means  in  vogue  to-day  to  secure 


DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE?      219 

Americanization:  for  instance,  anything  which  betters  a 
man,  such  as  being  taught  to  read  and  write,  is,  of  course, 
in  a  roundabout  way,  Americanization;  but  why  call  it  that, 
as  something  new,  instead  of  using  the  exact  word  such 
betterment  has  meant  for  ages  past  —  schooling?  Impart 
ing  a  knowledge  of  civics,  government,  and  history  is  like 
wise,  in  a  sense,  Americanization;  but  why  claim  for  it  a 
power  that  is  no  greater  than,  and  no  different  from,  what 
it  was  when  the  identical  thing  was  called  education?  So, 
also,  bringing  the  alien  "into  contact  with  what  is  best  in 
this  country,"  which  a  recent  publication  glibly  announces 
as  a  "new  method"  in  this  process,  is  in  one  sense  Amer 
icanization;  but  is  it  not  the  same  thing  as  what  was  more 
correctly  called  social  or  public  service,  or,  more  anciently, 
Christian  duty? 

Changing  their  names  does  not  render  inapplicable 
methods  applicable,  but  only  lulls  us  into  a  dangerous  con 
tentment.  That  the  insufficiency  or  inadequacy  of  such 
methods  is  being  grasped  in  certain  quarters  is  evidenced 
by  the  conditions  and  provisos  proposed  here  and  there  as 
necessary  for  the  success  of  the  "drive."  Thus  Secretary 
Lane,  in  a  popular  magazine,  cautions  his  readers  that  "be 
fore  we  take  up  this  work  of  the  Americanization  of  others, 
we  must  first  be  certain  that  we  have  Americanized  our 
selves."  The  implication,  that  even  real  Americans  may  be 
in  need  of  Americanization,  shows  the  essential  intricacy 
and  slowness  of  the  process,  even  at  its  best. 

To  understand  the  real  significance  of  Americanization 
(and  lack  of  clearness  on  this  point  is  the  root  of  the 
trouble)  we  must  consider  it  in  relation  to  the  larger  ques 
tion  of  nationality,  of  which  it  is  only  a  part  or  instance. 
One  of  the  lessons  of  the  Great  War,  of  peculiar  significance 
to  us  in  relation  to  our  immigration  problem,  is  the  tremen 
dous  strength  of  national  or  ethnic  sentiment:  indifferent 


220      DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE? 

men,  average  men,  comfort-loving  and  peace-loving  men, 
as  we  have  dramatically  witnessed,  are,  in  the  emergency  of 
a  real  test  of  its  power,  ready  to  die  for  it.  It  makes  heroes 
of  phlegmatic  Flemish  burghers,  and  martyrs  of  ignorant 
Slav  peasants;  it  reacts  in  the  blood  of  thousands  of  our 
German- Americans,  who,  we  had  firmly  believed,  had  been 
rendered  immune  to  the  old  call  of  the  blood  by  the  circum 
stances  of  birth  and  education  in  the  wholly  new  envi 
ronment  of  American  life.  Right  or  wrong,  happily  or  not, 
the  racial  call  persists,  potent,  assertive,  even  audacious. 
Worthy  or  unworthy,  we  saw  it  destroy  treaties  and  policies, 
learned  theories,  and  the  most  carefully  constructed  checks 
and  balances.  In  the  face  of  a  theory,  we  discovered  a  con 
dition;  in  the  presence  of  an  idealization  of  our  own  patriot 
ism,  we  found  an  equally  strong  and  all-absorbing  love  of 
nation  and  race  in  infinitely  poorer,  less  advanced,  and  less 
blessed  lands. 

Why  then  imagine  —  especially,  why  do  our  colleges  and 
universities  imagine  —  that  any  large  body  of  aliens  can  be 
Americanized  quickly,  if  at  all;  that  they  can  undergo  a  sort 
of  miracle  of  trans-nationalization  by  any  nation-wide 
"drive"  of  kind  words,  by  a  smattering  of  education,  or  by 
new  legislation?  I  do  not  say  that  Americanization  is  not 
possible,  but  I  contend  that  history,  science,  human  expe 
rience,  and  good  sense  point  to  the  conclusion  that  mass 
Americanization  or  speedy  Americanization  (of  the  real 
kind,  which,  I  trust,  is  the  only  one  the  colleges  and  the 
legislators  want)  is  impossible  by  any  of  the  methods  sug 
gested  or  applied.  And  this  largely  because,  as  it  has  been 
said,  "the  central  fact  about  nationality  is  not,"  as  so  many 
Americans  believe,  "a  political  force  at  all,  but  a  spiritual 
force."  Being  largely  a  spiritual  process,  it  may  be  swift 
and  almost  sudden  with  certain  types  of  unusual  men,  and 
under  certain  very  special  circumstances;  but  for  the  great 


DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE?      221 

mass  of  aliens  coming  here,  —  and  even  for  many  children 
of  alien  parents,  —  the  change  can  be  only  slow  and  subtle 
in  its  working,  if  it  is  to  be  real  and  enduring. 

Many  politicians  and  some  students  have  lacked  the 
courage  to  say  what  one,  like  myself,  of  foreign  descent 
should  frankly  assert  and  defend  —  that  this  is,  and  must 
remain,  an  essentially  and  fundamentally  American  coun 
try,  to  be  governed  solely  by  American-minded  men  in  an 
exclusively  American  way,  and  for  wholly  American  ideals. 
Any  compromise  on  this  seems  to  me  spiritual  treason  to  the 
Republic.  Shame  to  those  of  us,  not  of  the  old  stock,  who 
fail  in  these  days  of  trouble  for  our  country  to  defend  with 
all  our  heart  and  mind  what  is  first  and  foremost  the  heri 
tage  of  freedom  of  the  oldstock,  and  is  ours  only  in  so  far  as 
we  are  individually  worthy  of  it,  and  not  because  we  can 
vote  under  it. 

There  have  been  too  many  sentimental  pleas,  too  many 
spurious  arguments  about  this  being  a  land  of  immigrants 
and  all  Americans  the  children  of  immigrants.  What  is 
America,  first  and  above  all,  if  not  the  development,  essen 
tially,  of  Anglo-Saxon  ways  of  thinking  and  doing,  and, 
more  specifically,  of  New  England  ideas  and  ideals?  Nor 
must  we  overlook  the  fact  that  "in  all  history,"  as  John 
Fiske  has  pointed  out,  "there  has  been  no  other  instance 
of  colonization  so  exclusively  effected  by  picked  and  chosen 
men  as  in  New  England."  Let  us  ask  ourselves  in  full  hon 
esty  what  claim  of  equality  of  performance  or  of  American 
qualities  there  can  be  between  the  great  mass  of  immigrants 
and  their  children  and  those  colonists  and  their  direct  de 
scendants,  except  the  sheerest  of  legalistic  equality.  Who 
will  be  so  foolish,  or  so  hypocritical,  as  to  contend  that  the 
vast  majority,  or  even  a  substantial  number,  of  the  im 
migrants  who  have  come  or  are  coming  to  this  country 
can  be  classed  as  "the  picked  and  chosen  men"  of  Europe? 


222      DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE? 

Political  cowardice,  squeamish  conscientiousness,  and  cant 
have  avoided  a  frank,  open,  and  frontal  attack  against 
what  is  variously  styled  "the  Irish  vote,"  the  "East  Side 
vote,"  and  the  like;  as  if  the  toleration  of  anything  but 
a  thoroughly  and  wholly  American  vote  were  not  a  gross 
failure  in  the  practice  of  an  elementary  American  duty. 

What  are  all  the  schools  and  professorships  of  American 
ization  worthwhile  we  allow,  in  daily  practice,  such  destruc 
tive  distinctions  in  the  political  life  of  the  country?  "For 
the  successful  conduct  of  a  nation's  affairs,"  says  President 
Hadley  in  his  book,  The  Relation  between  Freedom  and  Re 
sponsibility,  "we  must  have  a  certain  degree  of  conformity 
between  its  political  institutions  and  the  moral  character 
of  its  members."  The  duty,  then,  of  every  Irishman  and 
grandson  of  Irishmen,  of  every  Italian  and  son  of  Italians,  in 
this  land  is  to  conform  his  moral  character  to  American 
political  institutions;  to  conform,  not  his  speech  or  even 
merely  his  vote,  but  his  every  thought  and  hope  and  plan 
—  for  it  must  be  an  unreserved  spiritual  conformity  —  to 
this,  his  country.  There  cannot  be  two  nationalisms  even 
if  one  is  major  and  one  minor,  even  if  one  claims  to  be 
American  first  and  German  second. 

It  will  justly  be  urged  that  criticism  is  not  necessarily 
helpful  unless  it  is  constructively  suggestive  as  well  as  de 
structively  analytical.  While  I  do  not  believe  that  the 
current  methods  or  plans  for  Americanization  can  bring 
about  what  is  claimed  for  them,  yet,  in  themselves,  they 
are  praiseworthy;  in  so  far  as  they  are  new  names  for  school 
ing,  education,  hygiene,  and  the  Golden  Rule,  they  are  the 
minimum  of  what  we  should  do  —  and  should  have  begun 
doing  decades  ago  —  for  a  somewhat  helpless  and  often 
ignorant  and  exploited  class  of  our  inhabitants,  both  alien 
and  native.  These  are  all  part  of  our  human  duty  and  of  our 
public  duty  to  our  fellow  men. 


DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE?       223 

The  objection  to  such  methods  —  which  fail  to  Amer 
icanize,  even  though  they  may  humanly  improve,  those  be 
ings  subjected  to  them  —  is  that,  in  effect,  they  accelerate 
and  widen  the  inclusion  of  new  "foreign  votes"  in  the 
American  electorate.  In  this  respect  they  perpetuate  the 
basic  error  of  all  our  immigration  policy  —  that  of  invit 
ing  and  hastening  that  purely  legalistic  Americanization 
known  as  naturalization.  This,  in  a  land  swept  by  large 
migratory  currents  of  varied  and  even  nondescript  nation 
alities,  where  manhood  suffrage  is  the  fundamental  law, 
constitutes  a  real  and  growing  danger. 

No  country  has  so  cheapened  the  electoral  franchise  as 
the  United  States,  by  practically  giving  to  everybody  the 
right  to  enjoy  it,  for  the  mere  asking.  The  only  controlling 
and  controllable  test  is  a  certain  arbitrarily  fixed  length  of 
residence;  for  it  will  hardly  be  urged  that  the  so-called  "in 
tention,"  supported  by  a  declaration  of  forswearing  alle 
giance  to  foreign  potentates,  and  so  forth,  enters  seriously 
into  the  transformation.  Length  of  residence,  that  is,  time 
(in  a  process  which,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  requires  some 
generations),  if  an  element  at  all,  should  be  a  very  long 
period.  Some  students  have  urged  fifteen  years;  but  to  the 
writer  twenty-five  years  would  not  seem  too  long  for  what 
might  be  called  a  splendid  political  apprenticeship.  Pro 
vision,  however,  should  be  made  for  shortening  such  ap 
prenticeship  upon  proof  of  special  qualities  of  a  high  order, 
or  of  public  or  quasi-public  service  rendered  to  this  country. 

Length  of  residence  was  chosen  because  it  was  easily 
proved  and  easily  ascertainable;  but  to-day  no  one  could 
claim  it  as  either  a  safe  or  even  a  rational  test.  There  are 
services  and  sacrifices  which  an  alien  may  undergo  in  this 
country  a  month  after  landing,  of  such  a  character  as  to 
entitle  him  to  immediate  or  honorary  citizenship;  there  are 
acts  and  omissions  by  an  alien  resident  here  ten  years, 


224      DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE? 

which  should  bar  him  everlastingly  from  citizenship,  or 
divest  him  of  it  if  naturalized.  The  real  test  for  citizenship 
should  be  political  fitness  and  personal  worthiness;  and  if  the 
lawyers  argue  that  these  are  too  subtle  and  spiritual  to  be 
defined  by  statute,  then  it  would  be  better  that  we  should 
suspend  naturalization  for  half  a  century,  while  we  try  to 
live  down  our  past  errors  in  this  field. 

This  nation  has  two  functions  in  history  and  toward  man 
kind:  first,  to  disseminate  principles  of  democracy,  freedom, 
and  humanity  among  all  men  throughout  the  world;  and, 
second,  to  be  a  nation  characteristically  American  from  top 
to  bottom.  It  is  this  latter  function  that  we  have  sacrificed 
—  if  not  seriously  endangered  —  by  our  policy  and  desire 
of  forcing  quick  or  accelerated  Americanization,  be  it  polit 
ical  or  spiritual.  The  present  "drive"  has  already  brought 
forth  a  number  of  bills  in  Congress,  which,  in  effect,  would 
compel  aliens,  after  a  certain  length  of  residence,  to  become 
"citizens"  or  leave  the  country.  Yet  the  more  "raw"  citi 
zens  (if  I  may  use  the  term)  you  take  in,  helping  the  process 
by  a  veneer  of  Americanization,  the  more  you  threaten  our 
characteristically  American  form  of  democracy.  "  If  we  be 
lieve,"  as  I  said  several  years  ago  before  the  American 
Academy  of  Political  Science,  "in  the  great  system  of  self- 
government  developed  and  stubbornly  fought  for  by  the 
English  people  through  centuries  of  training  and  struggle, 
we  may  fairly  claim  that  its  continuance  and  stability  will 
depend  on  a  citizenship  attached  to  and  understanding  its 
spirit  and  history,  and  in  sympathy  with  its  political  ideals. 
.  .  .  We  want  and  must  have  real  spiritual  allegiance;  we 
want  and  must  have  only  such  citizens  as  think  in  terms  of 
American  life." 

As  the  finest  contemporary  exponent  of  America  said,  in 
his  "American  Ideals,"  there  is  "one  quality  that  we  must 
bring  to  the  solution  of  every  problem :  that  is,  an  intense 


DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE?      225 

and  fervid  Americanism."  Even  in  the  great  struggle  now 
going  on  between  capital  and  labor,  "the  outcome,"  as 
President  Hadley  has  said,  will  depend  "on  the  character 
of  the  people,"  that  is,  on  whether  our  business  shall  be 
dominated  by  "the  spirit  of  the  adventurer  or  by  the  spirit 
of  the  Puritan." 

If  such  American  spirit  and  such  American  citizenship 
cannot  be  obtained  by  any  rapid  process  working  on  our 
alien  masses,  —  and  I  contend  that  it  cannot,  except  in 
special  cases,  —  then  why  encourage  or  permit  the  natural 
ization  of  such  masses,  or,  as  at  least  one  Congressional  bill 
provides,  force  American  citizenship  on  alien  residents? 
Naturalization  is  not  the  right  of  an  immigrant,  but  a 
privilege,  which  the  United  States  can  grant,  withhold, 
or  condition. 

We  are  constantly  concerned  with  the  restriction  of  immi 
gration,  but  it  is  a  far  more  important  matter  for  America 
to  bar  the  immigrant  from  its  body-politic  than  to  shut  him 
out  from  the  country.  Indeed,  I  believe  we  should  encour 
age  a  back-and-forth  alien  migration,  rather  than  a  stable 
one  which  ends  in  becoming  an  alien  colonization  in  our 
midst.  If  we  cared  for  America  more  and  for  our  political 
party  or  our  labor-union  less,  we  should  concentrate  our 
efforts,  not  so  much  on  excluding  able-bodied  alien  work 
men,  who  are  needed  to  help  develop  the  resources  of  our 
country,  but  more  on  the  urgent  and  vital  need  of  barring 
numberless  "new-made"  citizens  from  our  electorate. 

For  over  fifty  years  the  tendency  in  this  country  has  been 
to  make  American  citizenship  easily  achievable;  to-day, 
when  we  begin,  though  darkly,  to  see  the  evil  consequences 
of  such  largesse,  we  grasp  at  the  slender  raft  of  American 
ization  to  escape  the  storm;  and  in  the  name  of  such  an 
empirical  and  simplicist  remedy,  some  of  our  Congressmen, 
with  equal  good  faith  and  simplicism,  propose  legislation 

16 


226      DOES  AMERICANIZATION  AMERICANIZE? 

which,  in  effect,  will  add  to  our  un-American  or  pseudo- 
American  vote. 

We  cannot  remedy  the  past,  or  cover  our  mistakes,  by  a 
resort  to  disfranchisement;  but  we  can  and  should  oppose 
any  attempt,  made  in  however  good  faith,  to  increase  the 
number  of  such  Americanized  citizens  within  our  body- 
politic,  as  to-morrow  may  have  the  power,  as  well  as  the 
desire,  to  change  the  character  of  our  democracy.  The  for 
eign  vote  is  already  making  itself  felt  in  some  parts  of  our 
country  as  a  distinctly  foreign  vote.  Let  us,  then,  take  to 
heart  the  words  written  many  years  ago  by  the  most  bal 
anced  observer  and  student  of  our  immigration  problem, 
Richmond  Mayo-Smith;  words  which  to-day  sound  like  a 
patriotic  warning:  — 

"The  change  in  social  ideals  wrought  by  the  infiltration 
of  peoples  having  different  customs  and  habits  of  life  can  be 
detected  only  as  these  elements  and  habits  of  life  gradually 
become  dominant,  and  as  we  see  the  decay  of  habitudes 
which  we  had  valued.  We  then  exclaim  against  the  degen 
eracy  of  the  times,  forgetting  that  we  ourselves  have  ad 
mitted  the  elements  which  have  superseded  the  old." 


AMERICANIZATION:   THE   OTHER   SIDE   OF 
THE   CASE 

JOHN   KULAMER 

BEFORE  putting  the  patient  under  the  anaesthetic  and 
operating  on  him,  give  him  a  chance  to  say  a  few  words: 
they  may  help  the  wise  doctors  in  their  diagnosis,  and  may 
suggest  the  kind  of  operation  to  be  performed.  It  is  no  con 
solation  to  the  patient  or  to  his  friends  to  say  that  the 
operation  was  successful  but  the  patient  died.  "American 
ize  the  foreigners"  is- the  cry  heard  all  over  the  country. 
Several  state  legislatures  have  already  passed  laws,  more 
or  less  practical,  to  satisfy  this  hysterical  cry;  and  the  pres 
ent  session  of  Congress  has  similar  legislation  on  its  pro 
gramme.  I  say  hysterical  advisedly,  for  the  reason  that  it 
looks  so  to  the  "foreigners"  who  have  gone  through  the 
mill,  who  are  in  better  position  to  know  the  situation,  and 
can  judge  better  the  results  of  ill-advised  attempts  by  legis 
lators  to  make  to  order  Americans  out  of  "foreigners."  It 
is  not  a  question  of  principle  with  us  alien-born  American 
citizens;  but  the  means  by  which  "foreigners"  are  sought 
to  be  Americanized  give  us  cause  to  raise  our  voices  in  pro 
test.  By  all  means,  let  those  who  seek  the  bounty  of  this 
liberal  country  to  settle  here  permanently  become  in  spirit 
and  in  truth  Americans;  and  let  those  who  come  here 
temporarily,  so  long  as  it  pleases  America  to  admit  them, 
gratefully  accept  her  munificence,  and  observe  scrupu 
lously  all  her  laws;  but  the  question  is,  can  a  "foreigner" 
become  a  true  American  by  force?  Some  of  the  legislation 
already  passed,  and  some  of  the  methods  contemplated, 
savor  strongly  of  force.  Is  that  wise?  Is  it  practical?  Is  it 
American? 


228  AMERICANIZATION 

I  preface  this,  so  as  not  to  be  misunderstood.  Although 
born  in  far-off  Czecho-Slovakia,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
snow-capped  Tatra,  I  can  without  boasting  say  that  I  yield 
to  no  one  in  my  loyalty  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes;  and  if  I 
differ  in  my  views  as  to  the  methods  to  be  used  in  American 
izing  those  who,  like  me,  were  born  in  other  countries,  I  do 
it  out  of  love  for  my  adopted  country,  and  because  I  am 
anxious  to  see  these  efforts  crowned  with  success.  We  who 
are  Americans  by  our  free  choice  (pardon  the  boast)  deplore 
sincerely  the  faults  of  our  compatriots,  and  are  most  anx 
ious  to  see  them  remedied;  we  are  heartily  in  favor  of  any 
practical  movement  on  the  part  of  American-born  citizens 
to  help  these  people  to  become  true  Americans,  in  the  full 
meaning  of  the  word;  but  we  say  that  you  will  never  suc 
ceed  by  using  the  same  methods  that  drove  many  of  them 
to  seek  the  shelter  of  free  American  institutions.  Do  not 
transplant  Prussia  or  Hungary  to  the  shores  of  liberal 
America.  Prussian  and  Magyar  methods  have  proved  to  be 
a  failure;  the  Irish  nation  is  a  fairly  lively  corpse,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  the  prohibited  Celtic  language  is  almost  reck 
oned  among  the  dead  languages.  Remember  this:  a  parrot 
does  not  become  a  man  by  learning  to  say,  "Polly  wants  a 
cracker,  "or  to  swear  like  a  sailor.  Do  not  confuse  the  means 
with  the  end :  a  man  can  commit  treason  in  English  as  read 
ily  as  in  Hottentot. 

First  of  all,  why  this  hectic  outcry  just  now?  Why  this 
feverish  activity  to  remedy  by  legislation  the  evils  that 
grew  up  through  years  of  neglect,  nay,  almost  brutal  oppo 
sition,  on  the  part  of  the  American-born;  through  years  of 
galling  ridicule  and  heartless  exploitation;  through  years  of 
contempt  and  prejudice?  Let  us  face  the  facts  squarely. 
Is  it  because  of  the  activities  of  the  paid  agents  of  foreign 
governments  during  the  war?  Is  it  because  of  foreign  and 
native  propaganda  now?  Why  does  not  the  government 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE  229 

deal  with  individuals  according  to  their  just  deserts?  Why 
does  the  government  so  scrupulously  adhere  to  the  con 
stitutional  safeguards  of  individuals  in  its  proceedings 
against  those  who  openly  renounce  and  ridicule  them? 
Could  anything  be  more  humiliating  than  the  arrogance  of 
the  departing  Emma  Goldman?  Of  all  the  "foreigners" 
whom  it  is  proposed  now  to  Americanize,  only  a  negligible 
percentage  is  dangerous  to  American  institutions,  and  the 
government  of  such  a  powerful  nation  ought  to  have  no 
trouble  in  getting  rid  of  these. 

Some  of  them  are  crude  in  their  manners,  illiterate,  and 
ignorant  of  the  fine  points  of  our  Constitution;  but  at  heart 
they  are  loyal  to  their  new  country;  their  greatest  desire  is 
to  become  like  Americans,  whom  they  admire;  their  great 
est  boast  is  that  they  are  citizens,  and  they  almost  worship 
their  "second  papers,"  if  they  have  been  able  to  get  them. 
I  need  not  cite  proofs  of  this :  it  is  inscribed  in  letters  of  blood 
on  the  pages  of  American  history.  To-day  many  of  them 
are,  besides,  bound  to  this  country  by  gratitude  for  the  help 
which  it  extended  to  their  oppressed  brethren  in  the  land  of 
their  nativity.  During  the  war  they  looked  upon  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  not  only  as  the  flag  of  their  adopted  country, 
but  also  as  a  symbol  of  hope,  a  guaranty  of  freedom  to  their 
mother  countries :  and  so  it  is  now. 

They  are  living  beings,  and  it  is  the  essential  principle  of 
life  to  respond  to  favorable  environment.  All  efforts  at 
their  Americanization  should  be  founded  upon  this  princi 
ple.  Remove  difficulties  out  of  their  way,  create  a  favorable 
environment,  and  they  will  respond  to  it.  Do  not  place  new 
difficulties  in  their  way. 

The  greatest  obstacles  to  the  speedy  Americanization  of 
foreigners  are  the  ridicule  of,  contempt  for,  and  prejudice 
against  them  on  the  part  of  native  Americans.  In  showing 
this,  I  will  confine  myself  to  the  experience  of  the  Czecho- 


230  AMERICANIZATION 

Slovaks,  so  that  I  may  be  able  to  make  out  a  concrete  case, 
and  because  I  am  best  acquainted  with  their  spirit  and  sit 
uation.  The  Bohemian  or  Czech  portion  of  the  Czecho 
slovaks  are  old  settlers  in  this  country;  most  of  them  are 
considered  as  Americanized.  The  Slovak  immigration  is 
rather  recent,  and  is  included  in  that  invidious  term, 
"foreigners."  The  first  immigrants  came  here,  or  rather 
were  brought  here,  by  American  agents  scouring  Europe 
for  laborers;  so  that  originally  they  were  sought  after. 
They  first  settled  in  the  hard-coal  regions  of  Pennsylvania. 
After  them  came  thousands  seeking  larger  opportunities,  or 
fleeing  from  Magyar  political  persecution.  That  they  are 
hard  workers  and  economical,  everyone  concedes.  But  it  is 
said,  in  justification  of  the  existing  prejudice,  —  if  class- 
prejudice  can  be  justified,  —  that  they  have  so  many  bad 
habits,  their  manners  are  so  uncouth,  their  dress  so  ridicu 
lous  and  crude,  they  live  in  such  an  unsanitary  way,  they 
are  such  drunkards  and  fight  so  much  —  in  fact,  they  are 
chronic  trouble-makers.  There  are  two  other  specifications, 
of  a  different  nature,  charged  against  them :  that  they  con 
stitute  the  cheap  labor  of  the  country  and  compete  unfairly 
with  the  American  laborer,  and  that  they  come  here  only  to 
save  up  money  and  take  it  home  with  them,  thus  taking 
out  of  the  country  a  large  portion  of  its  capital.  Before 
answering  these  accusations  categorically,  let  me  say  this 
in  general:  they  are  deeply  religious,  no  matter  what  reli 
gion  they  prof  ess;  there  are  hardly  any  professional  hardened 
criminals  among  them;  and  there  are  no  anarchists. 

It  may  be  a  little  humiliating  to  proud  Americans  to 
know  that  the  manners  of  these  foreigners  deteriorate  in  the 
United  States.  They  have  lost  many  good  points  by  their 
contact  with  Americans,  principally  on  account  of  bad  ex 
ample.  Trained  in  the  hard  school  of  centuries  of  servitude 
under  the  most  cruel  masters,  the  Slovaks  are  naturally 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE  231 

respectful  to  their  superiors,  —  not  necessarily  servile,  — 
retiring,  and  law-abiding;  they  are  trusting,  kind-hearted, 
and  cheerful.  To  them  the  state  and  its  authority  are  things 
sacred.  True,  the  laboring  class  does  not  possess  the  polish 
of  the  salon,  cannot  wear  a  tuxedo  with  grace  and  elegance; 
but  are  American  laborers  courtiers?  They  learned  to  chew 
tobacco  in  America,  but  nothing  is  more  repellent  to  them 
than  to  see  the  cheek  of  a  well-dressed  man  bulge  with  a 
"quid,"  and  they  cannot  understand  how  a  man  in  an 
exalted  position,  say  a  judge  in  the  courtroom,  can  squirt 
tobacco-juice  under  the  bench.  Their  dress  may  appear 
ridiculous;  but  when  milady  turns  up  her  puissant  nose  at 
the  unshapely  dress  of  her  Slovak  sister,  let  her  remember 
that  she  looks  so  ungainly  because  she  is  trying  to  imitate 
Parisian  fashions;  in  her  native  country  she  wore  lace  and 
embroidery  over  which  milady  would  rave,  and  that  made 
with  her  own  hands;  she  wore  the  finest  hand- made  linen, 
her  own  product,  from  the  flax  to  the  garment.  She  has  not 
tortured  her  shape  all  her  life  out  of  the  proportions  which 
nature  bestowed  on  her. 

They  will  amuse  themselves  on  Sundays  in  a  boisterous 
manner,  have  music  and  dancing.  It  should  not  be,  even  if 
there  is  no  real  harm  in  it,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  out  of 
deference  to  American  customs.  At  home  they  did  it  mostly 
in  the  open  air,  under  some  spreading  tree;  and  they  hardly 
realize  the  difference  when  it  is  done  in  confined  quarters. 

Now  about  their  housing  conditions.  Here  the  same 
statement  applies  as  to  their  manners :  they  live  here,  as  a 
rule,  worse  than  they  did  at  home.  Who  is  to  blame?  The 
first  settlers  lived  exclusively  in  company  houses,  and  thou 
sands  of  them  still  use  such  quarters  as  their  employers 
supply  them.  Those  living  in  cities  mostly  occupy  houses 
from  which  proud  American  families  draw  rents.  And  what 
exorbitant  rates  they  pay!  At  the  rate  which  they  pay  for 


232  AMERICANIZATION 

their  two  or  three  rooms  they  could  rent  palaces  at  home, 
if  counted  by  rooms.  In  the  old  country,  no  matter  how 
humble  the  cottage,  it  had  a  small  plot  of  ground  around  it, 
and  the  flower-garden  in  front  of  it  was  one  of  the  house 
keeper's  greatest  prides.  A  large  coal  company  in  Pennsyl 
vania,  in  recent  years,  has  made  some  effort  to  better  the 
housing  conditions,  and  now  in  the  blooming  front  gardens 
you  can  see  the  reproduction  of  some  old  country  village. 
The  Slovak  women  are  the  largest  buyers  of  stove-polish, 
and  no  other  women  spend  so  much  time  on  their  knees 
scrubbing  the  floors. 

So  long  as  the  American  government  drew  large  revenues 
from  the  sale  of  liquors,  who  dares  to  accuse  them  of  dis 
loyalty  because  they  drank  a  good  deal?  As  to  being  trou 
ble-makers  :  if  the  facts  were  thoroughly  sifted,  it  would  ap 
pear  that  in  the  majority  of  cases  the  fights  at  celebrations 
were  caused  by  American  hoodlums  who  wanted  forcibly  to 
share  their  kegs  of  beer,  which  the  "hunkies"  naturally  re 
sented.  I  need  not  describe  how  much  the  first  settlers  in 
the  hard-coal  regions  of  Pennsylvania  suffered  at  the  hands 
of  a  certain  organized  gang  of  another  nationality,  dozens 
of  whom  finally  expiated  their  crimes  on  the  gallows.  We 
heard  of  their  terrorism  four  thousand  miles  away. 

Now  take  the  other  side  of  the  picture:  what  did  the 
"foreigner"  have  to  endure?  Ridicule,  contempt,  persecu 
tion,  exploitation,  extortion,  injustice,  all  of  which  was  due 
to  the  prejudice  against  him.  He  is  very  seldom  called  by 
his  name,  is  always  referred  to  as  "hunkie,"  or  "dago,"  or 
the  like;  he  is  made  on  all  sides  to  feel  that  he  is  despised, 
that  he  is  a  stranger  and  unwelcome.  His  children  are  dis 
criminated  against,  no  matter  how  hard  he  tries  to  bring 
them  up  according  to  the  American  standard.  To  bring 
this  home:  several  times  my  little  girl  asked  me,  "Daddy, 
why  does  Jennie  call  me  a  'hunkie?'"  It  hurts,  and  not 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE  233 

everybody  can  take  such  matters  philosophically,  espe 
cially  when  he  knows  that  his  child  is  just  as  good  as,  if  not 
better  than,  the  other. 

This  ostracism  by  American-born  children  and  young 
folk  is  bearing  very  disastrous  fruit.  Fine  clean-cut  young 
men  of  foreign  parentage  have  gone  wrong  because  com 
pelled  to  associate  with  American  scum.  They  are  shunned 
by  their  equals,  made  to  feel  uncomfortable  among  them, 
and  so  they  seek  other  society,  often  dangerous.  And  this 
discrimination  is  not  always  crude  and  brutal,  owing  to  ig 
norance.  Some  years  ago  I  had  occasion  to  make  an  argu 
ment  before  the  court  in  bane,  three  judges  sitting.  Some 
days  later  one  of  the  judges  was  kind  enough  to  compliment 

me  on  my  effort,  and  added  that  Judge had  remarked 

upon  the  fact  that  a  foreign-born  attorney  could  acquit  him 
self  so  well.  And  why  not,  pray?  It  would  take  volumes  to 
describe  the  abuse,  ill-treatment,  discrimination,  and  even 
brutality  which  the  "hunkies"  have  to  suffer  at  their  work 
—  work  which  the  native  American  would  disdain  to  per 
form,  but  which  must  be  done.  Let  us  spread  a  pall  of 
forgetfulness  over  it.  Furthermore,  only  those  connected 
with  the  practice  of  law  know  the  amount  of  injustice  and 
extortion  that  is  practised  on  them.  Prejudice  often  blinds 
even  the  jurists  sitting  as  judges.  Details  could  be  given  ad 
nauseam.  At  times  it  seems  as  if  Americans  thought  that 
the  foreigners  have  no  ordinary  human  feelings. 

It  is  true  that  the  first  settlers  competed  with  American 
labor;  but  they  soon  learned  their  lesson.  There  are  no 
stauncher  supporters  of  organized  labor  than  foreigners, 
and  they  form  the  backbone  of  some  large  unions.  Just  now 
there  is  an  outcry  against  them,  and  all  the  labor  unrest  is 
laid  at  their  doors.  But  go  to  their  meetings,  and  you  will 
find  that  in  some  locals  the  only  Americans  are  the  officers 
who  are  their  leaders.  In  whose  hands  is  the  national  lead- 


234  AMERICANIZATION 

ership?  How  many  foreigners  are  at  the  head  of  large  labor- 
organizations?  The  number  of  foreign  agitators  who  are 
dangerous  to  American  institutions  is  small :  why  does  not 
the  government  eject  them  summarily?  It  is  a  principle  of 
American  jurisprudence  that  a  man  can  renounce  his  coun 
try;  why  is  not  the  reverse  also  true,  that  a  country  can  re 
nounce  its  citizen,  after  he  has  openly  declared  himself  to 
be  opposed  to  all  organized  government?  Easily  misled; 
blind  followers;  unfit  for  our  institutions,  it  will  be  objected. 
Which  is  a  greater  crime,  to  lead  astray  or  to  follow  astray? 
Besides,  why  is  it  almost  impossible  to  abolish  political 
bossism  throughout  the  whole  country?  That  is  politics,  I 
hear  someone  say. 

It  is  true  that  many  of  them  return  to  the  old  country 
and  take  money  along  with  them  —  their  hard-earned  sav 
ings.  Can  they  be  blamed  for  wishing  to  return  to  more 
congenial  personal  surroundings  and  put  up  with  political 
oppression  which  is  more  distant?  The  fact  is  that  the 
United  States  should  appreciate  this  propensity  of  the  for 
eigners;  it  has  saved  the  country  many  a  labor  crisis,  and 
has  automatically  solved  the  question  of  unemployment, 
with  which  other  countries  have  had  to  wrestle.  The  vol 
ume  of  travel  by  sea  was  a  good  barometer,  and  a  very 
sensitive  one,  of  business  conditions  in  this  country.  When 
slack  times  came,  the  outgoing  business  of  the  steamship 
companies  was  brisk,  and  when  conditions  improved,  the 
tide  turned  the  other  way.  Thus  unemployment  was  kept 
at  a  minimum.  America  should  not  begrudge  the  price  in 
money  that  it  had  to  pay  for  the  solution  of  such  a  delicate 
problem. 

Now,  what  efforts  are  being  made  to  make  the  foreigners 
forget  all  this,  and  to  make  them  cheerful,  loyal,  and  willing 
Americans?  I  am  sure  that  no  one  wants  to  force  them 
to  become  Americans:  that  would  be  un-American.  The 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE  235 

method  so  volubly  and  voluminously  discussed  can  be  di 
vided  into  two  groups — educational  and  legislative.  Settle 
ment-workers  are  as  thick  as  flies  among  the  foreigners. 
But  these  latter,  for  some  reason  or  other,  are  not  respond 
ing  to  kindness,  it  will  be  reported  by  some  kind-hearted 
but  rather  meddlesome  lady.  It  would  be  far  better  for  her 
if  she  stayed  at  home  and  did  her  own  knitting,  put  her  own 
house  in  order.  It  would  be  well  if  this  work  were  more 
sympathetic  and  less  professional.  The  foreigners  do  not 
want  to  be  pampered,  but  neither  do  they  want  strangers  to 
come  among  them  with  a  better-than-thou  air,  and  try  to 
"uplift"  them.  The  earnest  foreigner,  with  a  little  self- 
respect  in  him,  hates  to  be  made  a  public  spectacle,  to  be 
exhibited  like  some  rare  bird  or  a  freak  of  nature,  to  boost 
the  standing  of  some  professional  Americanizer,  so  that  his 
salary  may  be  increased.  There  is  a  suspicion  among  the 
foreign-born  that  all  this  hullabaloo  now  raised  is  artificial, 
that  the  professional  Americanizers  need  it  in  their  business. 
The  war  has  created  so  many  new  professions,  organizers, 
and  charity  workers,  who  need  new  outlets  for  their  talents. 
I  was  present  at  one  "Americanization"  meeting  and  was 
disgusted  with  it.  "See,"  the  professional  seemed  to  say, 
"what  I  made  of  these  savages;  that  is  my  work."  I  know 
of  a  Federal  judge  who  has  made  more  Americans,  tech 
nically  and  spiritually,  by  his  sympathetic  talks  when  grant 
ing  papers,  than  whole  shoals  of  professional  Americanizers. 
They  fairly  worship  him,  but  the  outside  world  knows  little 
about  it.  But  when  it  is  done  to  the  accompaniment  of 
theatricals,  the  victim  may  remember  what  the  boss  called 
him  at  his  job  the  day  before,  and  he  will  not  have  a  very 
high  opinion  of  American  sincerity. 

Really  all  such  work  is  unnecessary.  The  old  generation, 
the  original  immigrants,  will  soon  die  out,  and  the  public 
schools  are  doing  all  that  can  be  done  for  the  coming  genera- 


236  AMERICANIZATION 

tion.  Only  one  thing  need  be  added  to  their  present  system : 
teach  the  American-born  children  to  treat  the  others  as 
their  equals.  The  problem  will  solve  itself,  if  you  will  re 
move  the  friction  between  native  and  alien-born,  and  keep 
meddlers,  who  cannot  take  the  foreigner's  view,  from  inter 
fering  with  the  natural  process. 

In  the  vast  mass  of  literature  spread  broadcast  over  the 
country  so  far  I  have  seen  but  one  item  which  showed  the 
proper  spirit.  The  Massachusetts  Bureau  of  Immigration 
gave  out  this  motto:  "Our  foreign-speaking  neighbors  de 
sire  our  friendship;  we  desire  theirs.  We  should  make  these 
strangers  in  a  strange  land  feel  'at  home';  that  we  want 
them  to  share  'our  house.'  You  can  help  make  America 
united  by  special  courtesy  and  patience  in  your  daily  con 
tact  with  all  who  do  not  speak  our  language  readily.  Help 
make  America,  its  institutions,  and  Americans  dear  to 
them,  so  that  they,  too,  will  become  steadfast  Americans." 

Sincere  thanks  from  all  foreigners  to  the  composer  of  this 
beautiful  motto.  In  other  words,  Americanize  the  American 
first,  and  there  will  be  no  trouble  with  the  foreigners;  for 
all  these  various  methods  are  not  truly  American.  These 
foreigners  have  a  very  high  conception  of  Americanism. 
My  teacher  of  English  (and  he  was  a  Prussian),  so  far  as  I 
can  remember  (it  was  twenty-eight  years  ago) ,  said  to  me : 
"John,  no  higher  compliment  can  be  paid  to  a  man  than  to 
say  that  he  is  an  American  gentleman;  the  qualification 
*  American'  raises  him  above  everybody."  That  was  my 
first  lesson  in  Americanism;  quite  often  I  was  disabused; 
but  when  I  meet  with  an  American  gentleman,  I  have  no 
trouble  in  recognizing  him  from  this  description. 

All  the  legislative  programmes  contain  in  one  form  or 
another  a  provision  for  forcing  the  foreigners  to  learn  the 
English  language.  That  is  a  great  mistake.  By  all  means, 
raise  the  bars  against  immigrants  as  high  as  public  policy 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE  237 

demands;  be  very  stringent  in  granting  the  foreign-born 
the  supreme  privilege  of  citizenship.  It  is  right,  nay,  it  is 
the  duty  of  the  country,  to  protect  itself  against  undesira 
bles;  but  the  language  test  is  the  poorest  test  that  could  be 
thought  of.  It  is  just  as  futile  as  the  literacy  test  in  the 
immigration  legislation;  it  will  produce  results  contrary  to 
those  desired.  It  will  admit  into  the  country  and  to  citizen 
ship  the  crook,  the  agitator,  the  dangerous  criminal,  and 
keep  out  the  honest,  hard-working  man.  The  swindler,  the 
agitator,  and  his  like  are  usually  educated  men,  and  can 
easily  comply  with  the  provisions  of  such  legislation;  the 
ignorant,  unlettered  man  is  politically  harmless. 

It  is  also  proposed  by  some  to  abolish  the  foreign-lan 
guage  press.  That  would  be  taking  away  from  aliens  the 
only  means  of  acquiring  information,  and  from  the  govern 
ment  the  only  means  of  reaching  the  foreigners.  I  am  sur 
prised  that  no  government  officials  raise  their  voices  in  pro 
test  after  their  experience  during  the  war;  after  the  help 
that  they  received  from  the  foreign-language  newspapers  in 
counteracting  the  poisons  spread  by  agitators  of  hostile  for 
eign  governments.  They  could  also  tell  that  they  received 
voluntary  information  concerning  meetings  at  which  dan 
gerous  principles  were  advocated. 

History  has  proved  that  language  will  not  necessarily 
make  a  man  a  loyal  citizen.  What  has  England  gained  by 
forcing  the  Irish  to  learn  the  English  language?  Prussia 
tried  to  Prussianize  the  Poles  by  prohibiting  the  use  of  the 
Polish  tongue,  and  Hungary  tried  to  Magyarize  its  various 
nationalities  by  similar  legislation;  and  what  has  happened? 
The  principle  of  the  oppressed  nations  was  that  action 
creates  reaction;  and  the  more  the  government  tried  to 
force  a  strange  tongue  on  them,  the  more  strenuously  they 
opposed  it. 

Language  is  a  very  useful  means  to  an  end;  also  it  is 


238  AMERICANIZATION 

something  to  which  a  strong  sentiment  attaches;  but  it  is  a 
mistake  to  make  the  language  an  end,  the  test  of  a  man's 
loyalty.  So  long  as  a  man  is  free  to  learn  another  language, 
he  will  do  his  best  to  learn  it,  if  it  is  to  his  advantage;  but 
if  you  try  to  force  him  to  learn  it,  his  opposition  to  it  will  at 
once  be  awakened.  The  psychology  of  this  need  not  be 
discussed;  it  is  a  fact.  The  foreigners  in  this  country  realize 
the  value  of  the  English  language,  and  are  doing  their  best 
to  acquire  it;  but  let  them  find  out  that  it  is  obligatory,  and 
they  will  present  a  thousand  and  one  excuses  against  learn 
ing  it.  For  one  thing,  they  will  argue:  "You  call  this  a 
free  country;  we  came  here  because  we  thought  it  was  so; 
we  fled  from  our  native  land  because  they  wanted  us  to 
learn  a  strange  tongue;  and  behold,  America  is  doing  the 
same  thing."  They  do  not  object  to  the  English  language 
as  a  language,  but  they  will  more  or  less  strenuously  oppose 
it,  if  required  by  law  to  learn  it.  Their  objections  are  not 
wholly  for  sentimental  reasons;  most  of  them  are  hard 
working  men,  doing  back-breaking  labor  in  grime  and  amid 
intense  heat  which  completely  exhausts  them;  to  require 
them,  after  a  day  put  in  at  such  work,  to  go  to  school  and 
to  learn  a  new  language,  at  an  advanced  age,  is  almost  in 
human.  It  is  all  very  well  for  a  professional  Americanizer, 
sitting  at  his  desk,  with  plenty  of  leisure,  to  learn  another 
language;  but  it  is  a  different  matter  for  a  hard-working 
man. 

Besides,  it  is  unnecessary:  the  new  generation  knows 
English;  a  great  many  young  men  and  women  are  even 
ashamed  of  their  mother-tongue.  Outside  of  small  villages, 
where  the  population  is  in  some  cases  almost  entirely  for 
eign,  the  children  do  not  speak  their  mother-tongue  even 
among  themselves.  It  is  a  common  experience  with  some 
parents  to  be  answered  in  English  by  their  children  when 
addressed  in  their  mother-tongue.  What  advantage  can  be 


THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  CASE  239 

gained  from  arousing  the  secret  opposition  of  these  people 
by  such  legislation?  Because  of  the  undue  importance 
given  to  language  in  European  countries  by  their  govern 
ments,  it  received  an  equally  undue  importance  in  the  esti 
mation  of  the  people;  language  was  raised  by  these  means 
to  the  same  sentimental  heights  as  religion.  It  is  not  wise 
for  legislators  to  meddle  with  sentiments  not  directly  harm 
ful  to  the  country. 

This  problem  of  language  will  also  solve  itself,  if  left  to 
its  natural  course.  Liberal  and  generous  treatment,  in 
accord  with  the  principles  of  Americanism,  on  the  part  of 
individuals  in  their  daily  contact  with  the  foreigners,  will 
do  more  than  volumes  of  laws.  Let  every  American  consti 
tute  himself  a  committee  of  one  to  behave  with  ordinary 
courtesy  toward  the  foreigner,  and  not  to  discriminate 
against  him,  and  he  will  respond  wonderfully.  He  need  not 
show  special  courtesy  as  the  Massachusetts  Bureau  asks: 
ordinary  courtesy  will  be  sufficient.  The  American  is  not 
asked  to  go  out  of  his  way  to  please  the  foreigner;  he  needs 
only  to  meet  him  half-way.  If  the  government  will  supple 
ment  this  by  energetic  action  against  the  real  undesira 
bles,  the  country  will  have  nothing  to  fear  from  the  others. 
There  is  no  one  more  disgusted  with  the  dilatory,  temporiz 
ing  tactics  of  our  government  in  dealing  with  these  pests 
than  the  alien-born  citizens. 

It  can  be  said  with  assurance  that  the  solidarity  of  the 
United  States  during  the  past  war,  in  spite  of  its  very  much 
mixed  population,  rested  solely  on  its  past  liberality,  these 
unpleasant  features  nothwithstanding.  The  foreign-born 
population  overlooked  all  that,  and  their  love  for  their 
adopted  country  wiped  out  all  past  irritation,  healed  all 
their  wounds  when  the  great  crisis  came.  Do  not  repay 
them  with  distrust  and  unnecessary  burdens.  Was  not  the 
Kaiser  disappointed  in  his  "American  party"?  And  the 
evidence  against  the  Germans  seemed  to  be  the  strongest. 


240  AMERICANIZATION 

The  position  of  the  foreigners  here  is  analogous  to  that  of 
the  Christians  in  the  days  of  persecution  by  the  Roman  Em 
pire.  They  are  treated,  not  as  individuals,  according  to  their 
deserts,  but  as  a  class,  and  the  whole  class  is  condemned. 
There  seems  to  be  a  certain  perversity  that  is  unexplain- 
able;  indulgence  to  the  individual  transgressor  and  severity 
with  the  class.  A  man  can  openly  renounce  his  allegiance, 
declaim  against  organized  forms  of  government,  denounce 
the  right  of  the  government  to  interfere  with  the  individual, 
laugh  at  constitutional  guaranties,  and  at  the  same  time 
invoke  them  for  his  protection,  and  they  will  be  granted  to 
him;  but  you  condemn  a  whole  class  without  a  hearing.  It 
seems  so  un-American,  for  the  American  boasts  of  his  fond 
ness  for  fair  play. 

Let  Congress  stop  playing  politics,  catering  to  the  popu 
lar  clamor;  let  it  pass  stringent  laws  for  the  protection  of 
the  country,  and  wise  and  constructive  laws  to  promote  its 
future  welfare;  let  the  executive  powers  enforce  those  laws 
fearlessly;  let  them  hunt  down  the  violators,  high  and  low, 
native  or  alien,  and  it  will  be  found  that  those  of  Czecho 
slovak  origin,  naturalized  or  unnaturalized  (I  speak  now 
for  them  alone),  are,  as  a  class,  loyal,  law-abiding,  hard 
working  inhabitants  of  the  United  States,  and  that  there 
are  no  more  criminals  and  traitors  among  them  than  among 
native-born  Americans.  What  more  is  wanted  of  them? 


NATIONAL   INDEPENDENCE    AND 
INTERNATIONALISM  * 

BERTRAND  RUSSELL 

IN  the  relations  between  states,  as  in  the  relations  of 
groups  within  a  single  state,  what  is  to  be  desired  is  inde 
pendence  for  each  as  regards  internal  affairs,  and  law  rather 
than  private  force  as  regards  external  affairs.  But  as  to 
groups  within  a  state,  it  is  internal  independence  that  must 
be  emphasized,  since  that  is  what  is  lacking;  subjection  to 
law  has  been  secured,  on  the  whole,  since  the  end  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  In  the  relations  between  states,  on  the  con 
trary,  it  is  law  and  a  central  government  that  are  lacking, 
since  independence  exists  for  external  as  for  internal  affairs. 
The  stage  we  have  reached  in  the  affairs  of  Europe  corre 
sponds  to  the  stage  reached  in  our  internal  affairs  during 
the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  when  turbulent  barons  frustrated 
the  attempt  to  make  them  keep  the  King's  peace.  Thus,  al 
though  the  goal  is  the  same  in  the  two  cases,  the  steps  to 
be  taken  in  order  to  achieve  it  are  quite  different. 

There  can  be  no  good  international  system  until  the 
boundaries  of  states  coincide  as  nearly  as  possible  with  the 
boundaries  of  nations.  But  it  is  not  easy  to  say  what  we 
mean  by  a  nation.  Are  the  Irish  a  nation?  Home  Rulers 
say  yes;  Unionists  say  no.  Are  the  Ulstermen  a  nation? 
Unionists  say  yes;  Home  Rulers  say  no.  In  all  such  cases, 
it  is  a  party  question  whether  we  are  to  call  a  group  a  nation 
or  not.  A  German  will  tell  you  that  the  Russian  Poles  are  a 
nation;  but  as  for  the  Prussian  Poles,  they,  of  course,  are 

1  Reprinted  from  Bertrand  Russell's  Political  Ideals,  by  permission  of 
the  author  and  of  the  publishers,  The  Century  Company. 

17 


242  NATIONAL  INDEPENDENCE 

part  of  Prussia.  Professors  can  always  be  hired  to  prove, 
by  arguments  of  race  or  language  or  history,  that  a  group 
about  which  there  is  a  dispute  is,  or  is  not,  a  nation,  as  may 
be  desired  by  those  whom  the  professors  serve.  If  we  are  to 
avoid  all  these  controversies,  we  must  endeavor,  first  of  all, 
to  find  some  definition  of  a  nation. 

A  nation  is  not  to  be  defined  by  affinities  of  language 
or  a  common  historical  origin,  though  these  things  often 
help  to  produce  a  nation.  Switzerland  is  a  nation,  in  spite 
of  diversities  of  race,  religion,  and  language.  England  and 
Scotland  now  form  one  nation,  though  they  did  not  do  so  at 
the  time  of  our  Civil  War.  This  is  shown  by  Cromwell's 
saying,  in  the  height  of  the  conflict,  that  he  would  rather  be 
subject  to  the  dominion  of  the  royalists  than  to  that  of  the 
Scotch.  Great  Britain  was  one  state  before  it  was  one  na 
tion;  on  the  other  hand,  Germany  was  one  nation  before  it 
was  one  state.  What  constitutes  a  nation  is  a  sentiment  and 
an  instinct  —  a  sentiment  of  similarity  and  an  instinct  of 
belonging  to  the  same  group  or  herd.  The  instinct  is  an 
extension  of  the  instinct  that  constitutes  a  flock  of  sheep,  or 
any  other  group  of  gregarious  animals.  The  sentiment  that 
goes  with  this  is  like  a  milder  and  more  extended  form  of 
family  feeling.  When  we  return  to  England  after  being  on 
the  Continent,  we  feel  something  friendly  in  the  familiar 
ways,  and  it  is  easy  to  believe  that  Englishmen  on  the 
whole  are  virtuous,  while  many  foreigners  are  full  of  design 
ing  wickedness. 

Such  feelings  make  it  easy  to  organize  a  nation  into  a 
state.  It  is  not  difficult,  as  a  rule,  to  acquiesce  in  the  orders 
of  a  national  government.  We  feel  that  it  is  our  govern 
ment,  and  that  its  decrees  are  more  or  less  the  same  as  those 
which  we  should  have  given  if  we  ourselves  had  been  the 
governors.  There  is  an  instinctive,  and  usually  unconscious, 
sense  of  a  common  purpose  animating  the  members  of  a 


AND  INTERNATIONALISM  *4S 

nation.  This  becomes  especially  vivid  when  there  is  war  or 
a  danger  of  war.  Anyone  who,  at  such  a  time,  stands  out 
against  the  orders  of  his  government  feels  an  inner  conflict 
quite  different  from  any  that  he  would  feel  in  standing  out 
against  the  orders  of  a  foreign  government,  in  whose  power 
he  might  happen  to  find  himself.  If  he  stands  out,  he  does 
so  with  a  more  or  less  conscious  hope  that  his  government 
may  in  time  come  to  think  as  he  does;  whereas,  in  standing 
out  against  a  foreign  government,  no  such  hope  is  necessary. 
This  group  instinct,  however  it  may  have  arisen,  is  what 
constitutes  a  nation,  and  what  makes  it  important  that  the 
boundaries  of  nations  should  also  be  the  boundaries  of  states. 

National  sentiment  is  a  fact  and  should  be  taken  account 
of  by  institutions.  When  it  is  ignored,  it  is  intensified  and 
becomes  a  source  of  strife.  It  can  be  rendered  harmless  only 
by  being  given  free  play  so  long  as  it  is  not  predatory.  But 
it  is  not,  in  itself,  a  good  or  admirable  feeling.  There  is 
nothing  rational  and  nothing  desirable  in  a  limitation  of 
sympathy  which  confines  it  to  a  fragment  of  the  human  race. 
Diversities  of  manners  and  customs  and  tradition  are  on 
the  whole  a  good  thing,  since  they  enable  different  nations 
to  produce  different  types  of  excellence.  But  in  national 
feeling  there  is  always  latent  or  explicit  an  element  of 
hostility  to  foreigners.  National  feeling,  as  we  know  it,  could 
not  exist  in  a  nation  which  was  wholly  free  from  external 
pressure  of  a  hostile  kind. 

And  group  feeling  produces  a  limited  and  often  harmful 
kind  of  morality.  Men  come  to  identify  the  good  with  what 
serves  the  interests  of  their  own  group,  and  the  bad  with 
what  works  against  those  interests,  even  if  it  should  happen 
to  be  in  the  interest  of  mankind  as  a  whole.  This  group- 
morality  is  very  much  in  evidence  during  war,  and  is  taken 
for  granted  in  men's  ordinary  thought.  Although  almost 
all  Englishmen  consider  the  defeat  of  Germany  desirable 


244  NATIONAL  INDEPENDENCE 

for  the  good  of  the  world,  yet,  nevertheless,  most  of  them 
honor  a  German  for  fighting  for  his  country,  because  it  has 
not  occurred  to  them  that  his  actions  ought  to  be  guided  by 
a  morality  higher  than  that  of  the  group.  A  man  does  right, 
as  a  rule,  to  have  his  thoughts  more  occupied  with  the 
interests  of  his  own  nation  than  with  those  of  others,  be 
cause  his  actions  are  more  likely  to  affect  his  own  nation. 
But  in  time  of  war,  and  in  all  matters  which  are  of  equal 
concern  to  other  nations  and  to  his  own,  a  man  ought  to 
take  account  of  the  universal  welfare,  and  not  allow  his 
survey  to  be  limited  by  the  interest,  or  supposed  interest, 
of  his  own  group  or  nation. 

So  long  as  national  feeling  exists,  it  is  very  important  that 
each  nation  should  be  self-governing  as  regards  its  internal 
affairs.  Government  can  be  carried  on  only  by  force  and 
tyranny  if  its  subjects  view  it  with  hostile  eyes;  and  they 
will  so  view  it  if  they  feel  that  it  belongs  to  an  alien  nation. 
This  principle  meets  with  difficulties  in  cases  where  men  of 
different  nations  live  side  by  side  in  the  same  area,  as  hap 
pens  in  some  parts  of  the  Balkans.  There  are  also  difficul 
ties  in  regard  to  places  which,  for  some  geographical  reason, 
are  of  great  international  importance,  such  as  the  Suez 
Canal  and  the  Panama  Canal.  In  such  cases  the  purely 
local  desires  of  the  inhabitants  may  have  to  give  way  before 
larger  interests.  But  in  general,  at  any  rate  as  applied  to 
civilized  communities,  the  principle  that  the  boundaries  of 
nations  ought  to  coincide  with  the  boundaries  of  states  has 
very  few  exceptions. 

This  principle,  however,  does  not  decide  how  the  rela 
tions  between  states  are  to  be  regulated,  or  how  a  conflict  of 
interests  between  rival  states  is  to  be  decided.  At  present, 
every  great  state  claims  absolute  sovereignty,  not  only  in 
regard  to  its  internal  affairs,  but  also  in  regard  to  its  external 
actions.  This  claim  to  absolute  sovereignty  leads  it  into 


AND  INTERNATIONALISM  245 

conflict  with  similar  claims  on  the  part  of  other  great  states. 
Such  conflicts  at  present  can  be  decided  only  by  war  or  by 
diplomacy,  and  diplomacy  is  in  essence  nothing  but  the 
threat  of  war.  There  is  no  more  justification  for  the  claim 
to  absolute  sovereignty  on  the  part  of  a  state  than  there 
would  be  for  a  similar  claim  on  the  part  of  an  individual. 
The  claim  to  absolute  sovereignty  is,  in  effect,  a  claim  that 
all  external  affairs  are  to  be  regulated  purely  by  force,  and 
that  when  two  nations  or  groups  of  nations  are  interested  in 
a  question,  the  decision  shall  depend  solely  upon  which  of 
them  is,  or  is  believed  to  be,  the  stronger.  This  is  nothing 
but  primitive  anarchy,  "the  war  of  all  against  all," which 
Hobbes  asserted  to  be  the  original  state  of  mankind. 

There  cannot  be  secure  peace  in  the  world,  or  any  deci 
sion  of  international  questions  according  to  international 
law,  until  states  are  willing  to  part  with  their  absolute  sov 
ereignty  as  regards  their  external  relations,  and  to  leave 
the  decision  in  such  matters  to  some  international  instru 
ment  of  government.  An  international  government  will 
have  to  be  legislative  as  well  as  judicial.  It  is  not  enough 
that  there  should  be  a  Hague  Tribunal,  deciding  matters 
according  to  some  already  existing  system  of  international 
law;  it  is  necessary  also  that  there  should  be  a  body  capable 
of  enacting  international  law,  and  this  body  will  have  to 
have  the  power  of  transferring  territory  from  one  state  to 
another,  when  it  is  persuaded  that  adequate  grounds  exist 
for  such  a  transference.  Friends  of  peace  will  make  a  mis 
take  if  they  unduly  glorify  the  status  quo.  Some  nations 
grow,  while  others  dwindle;  the  population  of  an  area  may 
change  its  character  by  emigration  and  immigration.  There 
is  no  good  reason  why  states  should  resent  changes  in  their 
boundaries  under  such  conditions,  and  if  no  international 
authority  has  power  to  make  changes  of  this  kind,  the 
temptations  to  war  will  sometimes  become  irresistible. 


246  NATIONAL  INDEPENDENCE 

The  international  authority  ought  to  possess  an  army 
and  navy,  and  these  ought  to  be  the  only  army  and  navy  in 
existence.  The  only  legitimate  use  of  force  is  to  diminish 
the  total  amount  of  force  exercised  in  the  world.  So  long  as 
men  are  free  to  indulge  their  predatory  instincts,  some  men 
or  groups  of  men  will  take  advantage  of  this  freedom  for 
oppression  and  robbery.  Just  as  the  police  are  necessary  to 
prevent  the  use  of  force  by  private  citizens,  so  an  interna 
tional  police  will  be  necessary  to  prevent  the  lawless  use  of 
force  by  separate  states.  But  I  think  it  is  reasonable  to 
hope  that,  if  ever  an  international  government,  possessed 
of  the  only  army  and  navy  in  the  world,  came  into  existence, 
the  need  of  force  to  exact  obedience  to  its  decisions  would 
be  very  temporary.  In  a  short  time  the  benefits  resulting 
from  the  substitution  of  law  for  anarchy  would  become  so 
obvious  that  the  international  government  would  acquire 
an  unquestioned  authority,  and  no  state  would  dream  of 
rebelling  against  its  decisions.  As  soon  as  this  stage  had 
been  reached,  the  international  army  and  navy  would  be 
come  unnecessary. 

We  have  still  a  very  long  road  to  travel  before  we  arrive 
at  the  establishment  of  an  international  authority,  but  it  is 
not  very  difficult  to  foresee  the  steps  by  which  this  result 
will  be  gradually  reached.  There  is  likely  to  be  a  continual 
increase  in  the  practice  of  submitting  disputes  to  arbitra 
tion,  and  in  the  realization  that  the  supposed  conflicts  of 
interest  between  different  states  are  mainly  illusory.  Even 
where  there  is  a  real  conflict  of  interest,  it  must  in  time  be 
come  obvious  that  neither  of  the  states  concerned  would 
suffer  as  much  by  giving  way  as  by  fighting.  With  the 
progress  of  inventions,  war,  when  it  does  occur,  is  bound  to 
become  increasingly  destructive.  The  civilized  races  of  the 
world  are  faced  by  the  alternative  of  cooperation  or  mutual 
destruction.  The  present  war  is  making  this  alternative 


AND  INTERNATIONALISM  247 

daily  more  evident.  And  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that,  when 
the  enmities  which  it  has  generated  have  had  time  to  cool, 
civilized  men  will  deliberately  choose  to  destroy  civilization 
rather  than  acquiesce  in  the  abolition  of  war. 

The  matters  in  which  the  interests  of  nations  are  sup 
posed  to  clash  are  mainly  three:  tariffs,  which  are  a  delusion, 
the  exploitation  of  inferior  races,  which  is  a  crime;  pride  of 
power  and  dominion,  which  is  a  schoolboy  folly.  The 
economic  argument  against  tariffs  is  familiar,  and  I  shall 
not  repeat  it.  The  only  reason  why  it  fails  to  carry  convic 
tion  is  the  enmity  between  nations.  Nobody  proposes  to 
set  up  a  tariff  between  England  and  Scotland,  or  between 
Lancashire  and  Yorkshire.  Yet  the  arguments  by  which 
tariffs  between  nations  are  supported  might  be  used  just  as 
well  to  defend  tariffs  between  counties.  Universal  free  trade 
would  indubitably  be  of  economic  benefit  to  mankind  and 
would  be  adopted  to-morrow  if  it  were  not  for  the  hatred 
and  suspicion  that  nations  feel  one  toward  another.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  preserving  the  peace  of  the  world,  free 
trade  between  the  different  civilized  states  is  not  so  im 
portant  as  the  open  door  in  their  dependencies.  The  desire 
for  exclusive  markets  is  one  of  the  most  potent  causes  of 
war. 

Exploiting  what  are  called  "inferior  races"  has  become 
one  of  the  main  objects  of  European  statecraft.  It  is  not 
only,  or  primarily,  trade  that  is  desired,  but  opportunities 
for  investment:  finance  is  more  concerned  in  the  matter 
than  industry.  Rival  diplomatists  are  very  often  the  ser 
vants,  conscious  or  unconscious,  of  rival  groups  of  financiers. 
The  financiers,  although  themselves  of  no  particular  na 
tion,  understand  the  art  of  appealing  to  national  prejudice, 
and  of  inducing  the  taxpayers  to  incur  expenditure  of  which 
they  reap  the  benefit.  The  evils  that  they  produce  at  home, 
and  the  devastation  that  they  spread  among  the  races  whom 


248  NATIONAL  INDEPENDENCE 

they  exploit,  are  part  of  the  price  that  the  world  has  to  pay 
for  its  acquiescence  in  the  capitalist  regime. 

But  neither  tariffs  nor  financiers  would  be  able  to  cause 
serious  trouble,  if  it  were  not  for  the  sentiment  of  national 
pride.  National  pride  might  be  on  the  whole  beneficent  if  it 
took  the  direction  of  emulation  in  the  things  that  are  im 
portant  to  civilization.  If  we  prided  ourselves  upon  our 
poets,  our  men  of  science,  the  justice  and  humanity  of  our 
social  system,  we  might  find  in  national  pride  a  stimulus  to 
useful  endeavors.  But  such  matters  play  a  very  small  part. 
National  pride,  as  it  exists  now,  is  almost  exclusively  con 
cerned  with  power  and  dominion,  with  the  extent  of  terri 
tory  that  a  nation  owns,  and  with  its  capacity  for  enforcing 
its  will  against  the  opposition  of  other  nations.  In  this  it  is 
reinforced  by  group  morality.  To  nine  citizens  out  of  ten  it 
seems  self-evident,  whenever  the  will  of  their  own  nation 
clashes  with  that  of  another,  that  their  own  nation  must  be 
in  the  right.  Even  if  it  be  not  in  the  right  on  the  particular 
issue,  yet  it  stands  in  general  for  ideals  so  much  nobler 
than  those  represented  by  the  other  party  to  the  dispute, 
that  any  increase  in  its  power  is  bound  to  be  for  the  good 
of  mankind.  Since  all  nations  equally  believe  this  of  them 
selves,  all  are  equally  ready  to  insist  upon  the  victory  of 
their  own  side  in  any  dispute  in  which  they  believe  that 
they  have  a  good  hope  of  victory.  While  this  temper  per 
sists,  the  hope  of  international  cooperation  must  remain 
dim. 

If  men  could  divest  themselves  of  the  sentiment  of  rivalry 
and  hostility  between  different  nations,  they  would  per 
ceive  that  the  matters  in  which  the  interests  of  different 
nations  coincide  immeasurably  outweigh  those  in  which 
they  clash;  they  would  perceive,  to  begin  with,  that  trade 
is  not  to  be  compared  to  warfare;  that  the  man  who  sells 
you  goods  is  not  doing  you  an  injury.  No  one  considers  that 


AND  INTERNATIONALISM  249 

the  butcher  and  the  baker  are  his  enemies  because  they 
drain  him  of  money.  Yet,  as  soon  as  goods  come  from  a 
foreign  country,  we  are  asked  to  believe  that  we  suffer  a 
terrible  injury  in  purchasing  them.  No  one  remembers 
that  it  is  by  means  of  goods  exported  that  we  purchase  them. 
But  in  the  country  to  which  we  export,  it  is  the  goods  we 
send  which  are  thought  dangerous,  and  the  goods  we  buy 
are  forgotten. 

The  whole  conception  of  trade  which  has  been  forced 
upon  us  by  manufacturers,  who  dreaded  foreign  competi 
tion,  by  trusts,  which  desired  to  secure  monopolies,  and  by 
economists  poisoned  by  the  virus  of  nationalism,  is  totally 
and  absolutely  false.  Trade  results  simply  from  division  of 
labor.  A  man  cannot  himself  make  all  the  goods  of  which 
he  has  need,  and  therefore  he  must  exchange  his  produce 
with  that  of  other  people.  What  applies  to  the  individual 
applies  in  exactly  the  same  way  to  the  nation. 

There  is  no  reason  to  desire  that  a  nation  should  itself 
produce  all  the  goods  of  which  it  has  need;  it  is  better  that 
it  should  specialize  in  those  goods  which  it  can  produce  to 
most  advantage,  and  should  exchange  its  surplus  with  the 
surplus  of  other  goods  produced  by  other  countries.  There 
is  no  use  in  sending  goods  out  of  the  country  except  in  order 
to  get  other  goods  in  return.  A  butcher  who  is  always  will 
ing  to  part  with  his  meat  but  not  willing  to  take  bread  from 
the  baker,  or  boots  from  the  bootmaker,  or  clothes  from  the 
tailor,  would  soon  find  himself  in  a  sorry  plight.  Yet  he 
would  be  no  more  foolish  than  the  protectionist  who  desires 
that  we  should  send  goods  abroad  without  receiving  pay 
ment  in  the  shape  of  goods  imported  from  abroad. 

The  wages  system  has  made  people  believe  that  what  a 
man  needs  is  work.  This,  of  course,  is  absurd.  What  he 
needs  is  the  goods  produced  by  work,  and  the  less  work 
involved  in  making  a  given  amount  of  goods,  the  better. 


250  NATIONAL  INDEPENDENCE 

But,  owing  to  our  economic  system,  every  economy  in 
methods  of  production  enables  employers  to  dismiss  some 
of  their  employees,  and  to  cause  destitution,  where  a  better 
system  would  produce  only  an  increase  of  wages  or  a  dimi 
nution  in  the  hours  of  work,  without  any  corresponding 
diminution  of  wages. 

Our  economic  system  is  topsy-turvy.  It  makes  the  inter 
est  of  the  individual  conflict  with  the  interest  of  the  com 
munity  in  a  thousand  ways  in  which  no  such  conflict  ought 
to  exist.  Under  a  better  system,  the  benefits  of  free  trade 
and  the  evils  of  tariffs  would  be  obvious  to  all.  Apart  from 
trade,  the  interests  of  nations  coincide  in  all  that  makes 
what  we  call  civilization.  Inventions  and  discoveries  bring 
benefit  to  all.  The  progress  of  science  is  a  matter  of  equal 
concern  to  the  whole  civilized  world.  Whether  a  man  of 
science  is  an  Englishman,  a  Frenchman,  or  a  German,  is  a 
matter  of  no  real  importance.  His  discoveries  are  open  to 
all,  and  nothing  but  intelligence  is  required  in  order  to 
profit  by  them.  The  whole  world  of  art  and  literature  and 
learning  is  international:  what  is  done  in  one  country  is  not 
done  for  that  country  but  for  mankind.  If  we  ask  ourselves 
what  are  the  things  that  raise  mankind  above  the  brutes, 
what  are  the  things  that  make  us  think  the  human  race 
more  valuable  than  any  species  of  animals,  we  shall  find 
that  none  of  them  are  things  in  which  any  one  nation  can 
have  exclusive  property,  but  all  are  things  in  which  the 
whole  world  can  share.  Those  who  have  any  care  for  these 
things,  those  who  wish  to  see  mankind  fruitful  in  the  work 
which  men  alone  can  do,  will  take  little  account  of  national 
boundaries,  and  have  little  care  to  what  state  a  man  hap 
pens  to  own  allegiance. 

The  importance  of  international  cooperation  outside  the 
sphere  of  politics  has  been  brought  home  to  me  by  my  own 
experience.  I  was  until  lately  engaged  in  teaching  a  new 


AND  INTERNATIONALISM  251 

science,  which  few  men  in  the  world  were  able  to  teach.  My 
own  work  in  this  science  was  based  chiefly  upon  the  work  of 
a  German  and  an  Italian.  My  pupils  came  from  all  over  the 
civilized  world:  France,  Germany,  Austria,  Russia,  Greece, 
Japan,  China,  India  —  and  America.  None  of  us  were  con 
scious  of  any  sense  of  national  divisions.  We  felt  ourselves 
an  outpost  of  civilization,  building  a  new  road  into  the  vir 
gin  forest  of  the  unknown.  All  cooperated  in  the  common 
task  —  and  in  the  interest  of  such  a  work  the  political 
enmities  of  nations  seemed  trivial,  temporary,  and  futile. 
But  it  is  not  only  in  the  somewhat  rarefied  atmosphere  of 
abstruse  science  that  international  cooperation  is  vital  to 
the  progress  of  civilization.  All  our  economic  problems,  all 
the  questions  of  securing  the  rights  of  labor,  all^the  hopes 
of  freedom  at  home  and  humanity  abroad  rest  upon  the 
creation  of  international  good- will. 

So  long  as  hatred,  suspicion,  and  fear  dominate  the  feel 
ings  of  men  toward  each  other,  so  long  we  cannot  hope  to 
escape  from  the  tyranny  of  violence  and  brute  force.  Men 
must  learn  to  be  conscious  of  the  common  interests  of  man 
kind  in  which  all  are  at  one,  rather  than  of  those  supposed 
interests  in  which  the  nations  are  divided.  It  is  not  neces 
sary,  or  even  desirable,  to  obliterate  the  differences  of  man 
ners  and  custom  and  tradition  between  different  nations. 
These  differences  enable  each  nation  to  make  its  own 
distinctive  contribution  to  the  sum  total  of  the  world's 
civilization. 

What  is  to  be  desired  is  not  cosmopolitanism,  not  the 
absence  of  all  national  characteristics  that  one  associates 
with  couriers,  wagon-lit  attendants,  and  others  who  have 
had  everything  distinctive  obliterated  by  multiple  and 
trivial  contacts  with  men  of  every  civilized  country.  Such 
cosmopolitanism  is  the  result  of  loss,  not  gain.  The  inter 
national  spirit  which  we  should  wish  to  see  produced  will  be 


252  NATIONAL  INDEPENDENCE 

something  added  to  love  of  country,  not  something  taken 
away.  Just  as  patriotism  does  not  prevent  a  man  from  feel 
ing  family  affection,  so  the  international  spirit  ought  not  to 
prevent  a  man  from  feeling  affection  for  his  own  country. 
But  it  will  somewhat  alter  the  character  of  that  affection. 
The  things  which  he  will  desire  for  his  own  country  will  no 
longer  be  things  which  can  be  acquired  only  at  the  expense 
of  others,  but  rather  those  things  in  which  the  excellence  of 
any  one  country  is  to  the  advantage  of  all  the  world.  He 
will  wish  his  own  country  to  be  great  in  the  arts  of  peace,  to 
be  eminent  in  thought  and  science,  to  be  magnanimous  and 
just  and  generous.  He  will  wish  it  to  help  mankind  on  the 
way  toward  that  better  world  of  liberty  and  international 
concord,  which  must  be  realized  if  any  happiness  is  to  be 
left  to  man.  He  will  not  desire  for  his  country  the  passing 
triumphs  of  a  narrow  possessiveness,  but  rather  the  endur 
ing  triumph  of  having  helped  to  embody  in  human  affairs 
something  of  that  spirit  of  brotherhood  which  Christ 
taught  and  which  the  Christian  churches  have  forgotten. 
He  will  see  that  this  spirit  embodies  not  only  the  highest 
morality,  but  also  the  truest  wisdom,  and  the  only  road  by 
which  the  nations,  torn  and  bleeding  with  the  wounds  which 
scientific  madness  has  inflicted,  can  emerge  into  a  life  where 
growth  is  possible  and  joy  is  not  banished  at  the  frenzied 
call  of  unreal  and  fictitious  duties.  Deeds  inspired  by  hate 
are  not  duties,  whatever  pain  and  self-sacrifice  they  may 
involve.  Life  and  hope  for  the  world  are  to  be  found  only 
in  the  deeds  of  love. 


ON  THE  FENCE 

FRANCES  PARKINSON  KEYES 

LAST  spring,  when  it  became  apparent  that  New  Hamp 
shire  might  be  the  "pivotal  state"  on  the  suffrage  question, 
and  that  consequently  my  husband's  vote  on  the  Susan  B. 
Anthony  amendment  in  the  Senate  might  count  a  great  deal 
more  than  one  vote  usually  does,  I  was  naturally  asked, 
more  than  once,  my  opinion  on  the  subject,  especially  as 
the  general  impression  seemed  to  prevail  that  my  own 
inclinations  had  been  against  equal  suffrage  rather  than  for 
it  —  and  this  was  true,  to  a  certain  extent.  But  he  voted, 
with  my  entire  approval,  for  the  amendment,  and  I  was 
immediately  the  recipient  of  countless  grateful  letters  from 
women  who  imagined  that  I  might,  after  all,  have  used  such 
influence  as  I  possessed  in  urging  him  to  do  so.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  did  not.  We  talked  the  question  over,  and  agreed, 
as  usual,  that  the  stand  he  afterwards  did  take  was  the 
stand  he  ought  to  take;  but  I  did  not  try  to  change  his 
opinion,  nor  have  I  changed  my  own.  For  frankly  —  there 
seems  to  be  no  reason,  now  that  the  question  is  settled,  or 
practically  so,  why  I  should  not  be  frank  —  my  position  is, 
and  has  been  for  a  long  time,  the  extremely  awkward  one 
of  being  "on  the  fence."  I  should  be  delighted  if  someone 
would  rescue  me  from  it. 

Most  of  the  stock  arguments  in  favor  of  suffrage  seem  to 
me  to  be  so  irrefutably  true  as  to  be  absolutely  bromidic. 
Women  are  certainly  "  people."  They  are  certainly  "  equal " 
to  men.  If  they  have  property,  they  certainly  ought  to 
have  a  part  in  the  management  of  public  affairs  in  the  local 
ity  where  it  lies.  It  is  eminently  "fair,"  for  all  these  reasons, 


254  ON  THE  FENCE 

that  women  should  vote  if  they  wish  to,  and  the  majority 
of  them  apparently  do  wish  to  —  the  majority,  that  is,  of 
the  whole  country,  not  the  majority  in  certain  sections  of 
the  country  where  it  is  still  unpopular.  And,  though  they 
are  still  untrained  in  politics,  there  seems  to  be  no  reason 
why  they  should  not  acquire  experience,  and  develop  tal 
ents  along  these  lines;  for  so  far  they  have  proved  that  they 
can  do  anything  that  men  can  do,  and  do  it  well.  Anyone 
unconvinced  of  this  before  the  late  war  must  be  certain  — 
even  if  reluctantly  certain  —  of  it  now. 

Nor  can  there  be  any  question  —  any  intelligent  ques 
tion —  as  to  whether  they  "have  time'*  to  vote.  It  does 
not  take  long  to  go  to  the  polls.  The  poorest  and  most  igno 
rant  woman  —  for  poor  and  ignorant  women  unfortunately 
do  exist  —  can  pile  her  dishes  in  the  sink,  and  give  the  baby 
a  dose  of  paregoric,  and  run  down  the  street  for  half  an 
hour.  The  richest  and  most  frivolous  woman  —  for  these, 
quite  as  unfortunately,  exist,  too  —  can  step  into  her  lim 
ousine,  and  be  back  again  at  No.  930  Golden  Avenue  with 
scarcely  an  interruption  of  a  rubber  of  bridge  or  a  luncheon 
engagement.  And  all  the  women  in  between  these  two  ex 
tremes  —  who,  thank  Heaven,  exist,  too  —  can  crowd  one 
more  thing  into  their  already  crowded  day  if  they  wish  or 
need  to. 

As  to  one  of  the  stock  arguments  against  suffrage,  —  that 
some  of  its  advocates  have  not  behaved  with  dignity  and 
good  sense,  —  it  is  so  silly  that  it  ought  to  carry  no  weight 
at  all.  It  is,  of  course,  true.  Suffragists  —  and  anti-suffra 
gists  —  are  human  beings,  with  faults  and  virtues  like  other 
human  beings.  There  are  bound  to  be  some  among  them 
who  do  not  measure  up  to  the  highest  standards  of  conduct 
and  intelligence,  and  who  have  done  their  cause  immeasur 
able  harm  by  violence  of  speech  and  action,  by  rebellion 
against  law  and  order,  by  using  suffrage  as  a  means  of  self- 


ON  THE  FENCE  255 

advertisement,  or,  worse  still,  by  combining  it  with  some 
other  doctrine,  —  free  love,  for  instance,  or  its  direct  oppo 
site,  —  when,  in  fairness  to  their  sister  workers  in  suffrage 
who  agreed  with  them  not  at  all  on  these  other  points,  if  for 
no  other  reason,  they  should  have  confined  themselves  to 
the  one  common  interest.  But  to  condemn  all  suffragists, 
ninety  per  cent  of  whom  are  sincere  and  high-minded  and 
"righteous  altogether  ";  to  say  that  they  are  not  properly  so 
described,  is  like  saying  that  all  doctors  are  mercenary,  that 
all  lawyers  are  tricky,  that  all  actresses  are  immoral.  It  is 
untrue.  It  is  stupid.  It  is  wicked. 

There  is,  moreover,  one  very  decided  advantage  which, 
it  seems  to  me,  suffrage  is  sure  to  bring,  and  that  is  eco 
nomic  independence  for  women.  Curiously  enough,  there  is 
much  less  said  about  this  than  about  the  probable  "purify 
ing"  of  politics,  over  which  I  am  personally  much  more 
skeptical.  The  states  which  already  have  suffrage,  even 
those  which  have  had  it  for  some  time,  are  not  noticeably 
purer  than  those  which  have  it  not,  and  the  reason  is  so 
self-evident  as  to  require  very  little  comment.  There  are 
all  kinds  of  women  in  the  world,  just  as  there  are  all  kinds 
of  men.  We  are  not,  as  a  sex,  above  every  sort  of  reproach, 
no  matter  how  much  idealists  —  men  and  women  both  — 
would  like  us  to  believe  that  we  are.  We  have  faults  which 
are  no  more  attractive  than  men's  faults,  though  they  are 
not  always  the  same  ones.  We  hope,  of  course,  that  Amer 
ican  women  —  and  American  men  —  are  going  to  grow 
better  as  time  goes  on;  but  it  will  probably  be  some  time 
before  we  are  perfect,  and,  meanwhile,  we  shall  all  vote,  if 
any  of  us  do.  The  rain  will  continue  to  fall  upon  the  just 
and  the  unjust,  as  it  has  been  doing  for  some  ages  already, 
and  as  it  is  eminently  desirable  that  it  should  continue 
to  do. 

But  all  women,  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  want  money, 


256  ON  THE  FENCE 

need  money,  and  ought  to  have  money;  and  so  far,  many  of 
them  —  in  a  good  many  cases  those  who  need  it  and  deserve 
it  most  —  have  not  had  their  fair  share  of  it.  A  man  is  re 
sponsible  for  his  wife's  or  his  daughter's  bills,  but  he  cannot 
be  compelled  to  give  them  one  cent  in  actual  cash  unless  he 
wishes  to;  and  a  lamentably  large  number  of  husbands  and 
fathers  do  not  wish  to.  I  believe  that,  even  without  suffrage, 
women  would  have  been  better  treated  in  this  regard,  as 
time  went  on,  than  they  have  been  in  the  past,  or  than  they 
are  at  present.  A  hundred  years  ago,  if  a  woman  with 
property  married,  the  property  all  became  her  husband's. 
This  unjust  law,  like  many  others,  has  been  changed  —  by 
men.  And  the  recent  war  has  proved  a  great  eye-opener  to 
many  wilfully  blind  males.  They  have  seen  their  wives  and 
sisters  and  sweethearts,  and  even  their  mothers,  —  who 
might  perhaps  be  supposed  to  carry  on  old-fashioned  tradi 
tions  better  than  the  younger  generation,  who  "could  n't  be 
trusted  to  handle  money";  who  "had  no  business  instinct," 
—  fare  forth  without  turning  a  hair,  without  more  ado,  in 
fact,  than  they  formerly  made  about  getting  breakfast  or 
putting  the  baby  to  bed  (for  which  they  were  not  paid),  and 
bring  home  very  well-filled  pay-envelopes  once  a  week. 
The  uses  of  adversity  have  indeed  proved  sweet.  These 
same  women,  who  have  always  worked  hard,  harder,  in  a 
good  many  cases,  than  at  their  new  jobs,  are  never  going  to 
be  satisfied  again  to  ask  for  money  for  carfare  and  postage- 
stamps,  with  the  possible  chance  of  being  refused.  And 
their  husbands  and  brothers  and  fathers  are  becoming  aware 
of  the  fact  —  drowsily  aware,  perhaps,  but  still  aware. 

"My  dear,"  Jane  is  saying  to  John  all  over  the  country, 
"I  love  you  and  John,  Junior,  and  I  love  to  live  at  home 
with  you  both.  I'd  rather  do  it  than  anything  else  in  the 
world;  much  rather  than  run  an  elevator  at  Smithkins  and 
Smithkins.  But  is  n*t  my  doing  it  worth  anything,  in  hard 


ON  THE  FENCE  257 

cash,  to  you,  or  the  government,  or  —  or  somebody?  "  (Jane 
is  still  a  little  vague  in  places.)  "It  seems  to  me  a  much 
more  important  job  than  running  an  elevator — to  you  and 
the  government  and  —  and  everybody;  and  I  got  paid  for 
that!  Who  is  going  to  look  after  you  and  John,  Junior,  if  I 
don't?  And  if  no  one  looks  after  you,  and  poor  helpless  men- 
creatures  like  you  all  over  the  country,  what  's  going  to 
become  of  the  country?  Of  course,  I  shan't  go  back  to  the 
elevator,  even  if  we  don't  have  a  more  satisfactory  arrange 
ment  than  we  had  before  you  went  across  —  that  is,  I  don't 
think  I  shall;  but  it  is  n't  fair,  just  the  same  —  is  it? " 

So  John  begins  to  do  a  little  thinking,  —  drowsily  at  first, 
but  gradually,  with  that  elevator  running  up  and  down  in 
the  back  of  his  mind,  in  a  more  and  more  wideawake  man 
ner,  —  and  decides  that  it  is  n't  fair,  and  that,  moreover,  as 
Jane  hints,  it 's  a  very  poor  risk  for  him  to  take,  to  try  it. 
I  do  not  believe  for  one  minute  that  the  wives  of  to-day  are 
less  loving,  as  some  persons  try  to  make  us  believe,  than 
those  of  a  generation  ago;  but  they  are  more  self-respecting. 
I  do  not  believe  that  they  consider  marriage  less  sacred,  but 
more  so,  because  they  refuse  to  endure  the  gross  offenses 
which,  alas,  sometimes  defile  it.  The  old-fashioned  woman 
put  up  with  all  kinds  of  faults  —  sometimes  with  all  kinds 
of  crimes;  she  suffered  indignities  and  allowed  her  children 
to  suffer  abuse,  because  she  was  afraid  of  losing  her  man, 
that  is,  her  means  of  support.  But  she  hated  and  despised 
and  revolted  against  him  while  she  did  it.  There  is  a  good 
deal  of  truth  in  a  little  verse  I  read  somewhere  not  long  ago — 

When  the  old-fashioned  wife  with  her  husband  had  strife. 
"I'll  go  back  to  my  mother,"  she  'd  sob; 
But  the  wife  of  to-day  does  n't  argue  that  way; 
She  says,  "I'll  go  back  to  my  job." 

John  does  not  want  Jane  to  go  back  to  her  job.  He  is 
just  as  much  afraid  of  losing  her  as  his  grandmother  was 

18 


258  ON  THE  FENCE 

afraid  of  losing  his  grandfather,  and  usually  with  more  and 
with  better  reasons.  It  has  a  very  wholesome  effect  upon 
him.  He  behaves,  as  a  rule,  much  better  than  his  grand 
father  did  to  his  wife.  His  morals  and  his  manners  are 
both  better.  So  I  think,  in  time,  he  would  probably  find  a 
way  to  be  "fair"  to  Jane,  as  I  have  said  before,  even  if  she 
did  not  help  him  make  the  laws.  But  he  will  find  it  much 
more  quickly  when  she  does.  He  will  not  allow  himself  to 
be  side-tracked  by  treaties  and  investigations  and  other 
impediments.  Jane  will  see  to  it  that  he  does  not.  She  will 
get  her  fair  share  in  a  fair  length  of  time. 

"But,"  I  can  hear  dozens  of  other  women  saying,  "my 
husband  —  or  father  —  is  not  like  that.  You  are  very  un 
just  to  dwell  on  isolated  cases.  The  average  woman  has  not 
had  to  earn  her  own  living;  she  has  been  supported  and 
given  all  the  money  she  could  possibly  use,  and  she  has  been 
very  comfortable  just  as  she  was.  I'm  sure  I  don't  want 
to  be  economically  independent.  It's  much  easier  just  to 
charge  things,  and  to  ask  for  twenty-five  dollars  or  so  when 
ever  I  need  it.  I  can't  add  up  accounts  to  save  my  life.  I 
would  much  rather  George  did  all  that." 

This  is  exactly  where  "comfortable"  women  have  been 
criminally  blind  and  lazy.  The  "average  woman"  to  whom 
Ethel  refers  —  let  us  call  her  Ethel  for  convenience  —  is 
the  average  woman  of  her  acquaintance,  which  is  a  very  dif 
ferent  thing  from  the  average  woman  of  the  whole  country 
—  of  the  whole  world.  The  average  woman  is  not,  as  Ethel 
likes  to  think,  a  "nice,"  sheltered,  well-educated,  well-to-do 
girl,  with  a  pleasant  home  and  indulgent  father;  whose  life 
is  made  easy  for  her  at  every  step;  who  never  worries  about 
anything  or  works  at  anything,  and  who  marries,  in  her 
early  twenties,  some  nice,  intelligent,  well-to-do  man,  whose 
indulgence  simply  supplements  that  of  the  still  indulgent 
father. 


ON  THE  FENCE  259 

This  kind  of  woman  has,  indeed,  been  very  "comfort 
able,"  and  has  received  quite  as  much  as  she  deserved  —  in 
many  cases  a  good  deal  more  than  she  deserved  —  from  the 
men  who  have  supported  her.  But  she  represents  a  very 
small  minority.  She  is  not  the  average  woman.  Ethel  has 
only  to  consult  statistics,  —  if  she  will  take  that  much 
trouble,  —  to  find  this  out.  Eighty  per  cent  of  the  married 
women  in  the  United  States  do  all  their  own  housework, 
and  that  represents  an  amount  of  labor  which  Ethel  cannot 
even  comprehend.  More  than  half  the  cases  of  insanity 
among  women  are  found  in  farmers'  wives,  the  women 
whose  "simple,  healthful,  wholesome  life"  Ethel  likes  to 
contemplate  from  a  safe  distance,  —  very  often  from  the 
back  seat  of  her  limousine  as  she  rides  through  "the  rural 
districts,"  —  which  gives  her  not  the  smallest  inkling  of 
the  long  hours,  and  hard  drudgery,  and  bleak  isolation  that 
such  a  life  often  contains.  Ethel,  perhaps,  has  not  read  the 
uncomfortable  fact  that  something  like  twenty-five  thou 
sand  women  in  this  country  die  in  child-birth  every  year 
for  lack  of  proper  medical  care;  and  the  still  more  uncom 
fortable  one  that  seventy  per  cent  of  the  operations  per 
formed  on  women  are  made  necessary  by  the  sins  of  others 
for  which  they  are  in  no  way  to  blame.  The  average  woman 
is  exactly  the  one  who  does  need  help,  and  to  whom  suffrage 
will  undoubtedly  bring  help. 

"Well,  then,"  says  Ethel  a  little  sulkily,  and  powdering 
her  nose  as  she  speaks,  "why  do  you  call  yourself  'on  the 
fence'  ?  You  are  an  out-and-out  suffragist.  I  should  think 
you  would  have  said  so  long  ago." 

No,  I  am  not,  and  for  the  very  reason  —  though  it  may 
sound  contradictory  —  that  I  agree  with  Jane  and  not 
with  Ethel.  I  fully  believe,  as  I  said  before,  that  women 
can  do  —  if  they  have  to  —  everything  that  men  can  do, 
and  do  it  well.  But  it  seems  to  me  an  overwhelming  pity 


260  ON  THE  FENCE 

that,  except  in  emergencies,  like  war,  for  instance,  they 
should  either  have  to  or  want  to.  For  men  cannot  do  every 
thing  that  women  can  do  —  cannot  do  it  at  all,  without 
any  question  of  doing  it  well.  And  the  things  that  women 
only  can  do  seem  to  me  the  greatest  and  most  important  in 
the  whole  world.  We  need  economic  independence  very 
much  indeed,  and  the  sooner  the  better;  but  we  need 
mothers  much  more.  The  place  to  begin  to  purify  politics 
is  not  at  the  polls,  but  in  the  nurseries. 
£  "Give  me  a  child  until  he  is  ten,"  the  Jesuits  used  to 
say;  "  anyone  may  have  him  after  that  —  he  will  be  a  good 
Catholic  all  his  life."  "Give  me  a  child  until  he  is  ten/' 
any  woman  of  to-day  ought  to  be  able  to  say;  "  anyone  may 
have  him  after  that  —  he  will  be  a  good  man  all  his  life." 
The  exceptions  to  this  rule  are  so  rare  as  to  be  negligible, 
though  of  course  they  do  exist.  Of  all  the  men  I  have  known 
I  cannot  recall  one  whose  mother  did  her  level  best  for  him 
when  he  was  little  who  did  not  turn  out  well  when  he  grew 
up.  I  do  not  mean  by  this  the  mother  who  paid  someone 
else  —  even  if  that  person  were  thoroughly  competent  and 
trustworthy  —  to  take  care  of  her  sons,  but  the  mother  who 
worked  and  saved  and  sacrificed;  who  played  with  her 
children  and  prayed  with  them,  too;  who  taught  them  and 
talked  with  them  and  nursed  them  when  they  were  sick; 
who  gave  them  an  example  and  an  inspiration  which  were 
to  last  them  all  their  lives,  not  only  through  what  she  told 
them,  but  through  what  she  showed  them. 

Motherhood  always  has  been,  and  always  will  be,  the 
greatest  factor  in  civilization.  It  has  never  needed  to  be 
recognized  as  such  more  than  it  does  now.  Henry  Adams 
is  right  when  he  says  in  his  Education  that  it  is  time  we 
stopped  regarding  sex  as  a  sentiment  and  recognized  it  as  a 
force.  And  the  career  of  motherhood,  to  be  successful,  is 
very  nearly  all-absorbing.  It  takes  up,  in  many  women's 


ON  THE  FENCE  261 

lives,  all  their  time  for  a  few  years,  all  their  best  time  for  a 
good  many  years.  We  cannot,  of  course,  all  be  mothers, 
and  those  of  us  who  cannot  would  be  admirably  employed 
in  helping  —  directly  or  indirectly  —  the  more  fortunate 
ones  who  can.  Perhaps  suffrage  will  do  this.  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  will  not,  in  the  ways  that  I  have  mentioned  before, 
and  in  other  ways  upon  which  its  conscientious  supporters 
rely.  But  I  fear  that  there  will  be  fewer  mothers  all  the 
time  to  help.  The  whole  world,  feminine  as  well  as  mascu 
line,  is  seething  with  restlessness  and  discontent,  with  the 
desire  for  liberty  and  pleasure  and  excitement;  and  this 
seething  will  not,  for  a  time  at  least,  tend  to  make  most 
women  content  to  live  quietly  in  more  or  less  seclusion, 
while  others  are  rushing  headlong  into  the  busy  world, 
especially  if  they  know  they  are  as  well  fitted  to  go  as  their 
friends  and  sisters,  or  even  better.  They  will  be  too  con 
scious  of  the  sacrifices  that  they  feel  they  are  making,  to 
be  entirely  happy  in  them.  I  do  not  mean  all  women,  of 
course,  possibly  not  even  most,  but  enough  to  bring  about 
many  empty  nurseries. 

"The  spirit  of  the  times "  is  not  a  mere  catchword.  It  is  a 
vital  force.  All  human  beings  are  imitative,  women  espe 
cially  so.  "Ethel  has  a  new  hat,  and  so  I  want  one  too." 
"Jane  is  running  an  elevator,  and  so  I  think  I  had  better 
do  something  of  the  kind  myself. "  If  Ethel  had  been  going 
bareheaded,  if  Jane  had  been  making  jam,  the  speaker 
would  have  wanted  to  do  those  things  instead.  And  so 
mothers  —  or  potential  mothers  —  will  want  to  have  out 
side  careers,  too,  if  their  friends  are  having  them,  and  their 
friends  will  encourage  them  in  this. 

My  own  experience  in  this  regard  shows  on  a  very  small 
scale  what  may  easily  happen  —  what  constantly  does  hap 
pen  —  on  a  large  one.  No  sooner  had  my  first  little  article 
—  a  mere  paragraph  in  an  unimportant  magazine,  which 


263  ON  THE  FENCE 

has  since  failed!  —  appeared  in  print,  than  countless  sin 
cere  well-wishers  began  to  urge  me  to  give  up  all  my  time 
to  writing,  and  to  ask  me  if  I  did  not  find  my  family  a  great 
drawback  in  my  " career."  I  cannot  remember  that  anyone 
has  ever  asked  me  if  my  career  —  provided  I  could  attain 
one  of  that  sort,  which  of  course  is  doubtful  at  best  —  might 
not  be  a  great  drawback  to  my  family!  For  it  is  perfectly 
true  that  outside  careers,  conscientiously  followed,  are,  or 
should  be,  hardly  less  all-absorbing  than  that  of  mother 
hood.  It  is  utterly  impossible  to  do  justice  to  both  at  the 
same  time.  No  woman  who  has  lived  with  a  man  who  has 
become  what  is  popularly  called  a  success  in  business  or  a 
profession  or  politics  needs  to  be  told  that  that  success  has 
to  be  earned,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  by  letting  everything 
else  go  by  the  board.  He  may  be  fond  of  all  sorts  of  amuse 
ments,  have  a  dozen  other  interests  —  he  will,  practically, 
have  to  abandon  them,  and  keep  his  eyes  glued  straight 
ahead  on  his  single-track  railway.  He  may  love  his  wife 
and  children  dearly,  but  they  will  perforce  be  a  secondary 
consideration  with  him.  When  he  has  achieved  success,  he 
may,  of  course,  relax  a  little;  but  by  that  time  the  best 
years  of  his  life  are  gone.  For  a  man,  this  usually  pays. 
Success  is  the  biggest  thing  in  his  life. 

I  see  no  reason  why  women  should  not  achieve  this  same 
kind  of  success,  if  they  really  want  it.  But  will  it  pay?  Is 
it  the  best  thing  in  our  lives?  Perhaps  for  some  women  it  is. 
But  when  it  becomes  the  best  thing  for  the  majority,  what 
is  to  become  of  the  next  generation? 

"Why  don't  you  ask  your  father  that  question?"  the 
wife  of  an  eminently  "successful"  man  told  me  recently 
she  had  said  to  her  sixteen-year-old  son,  when  he  came  to 
her  with  a  question  that  she  felt  a  man  could  perhaps  an 
swer  better  than  she  could,  in  spite  of  the  confidence  that 
had  always  existed  between  herself  and^the  boy. 


ON  THE  FENCE  263 

"Oh,  I  couldn't,"  he  exclaimed  quickly;  "of  course, 
father  and  I  are  friends,  but  we're  not  intimate  friends!" 

If  he  and  his  mother  had  not  been  intimate  friends  either, 
to  whom  would  he  have  gone  with  his  question?  And  if  it 
had  been  unintelligently  or  untruthfully  answered,  or  if 
it  had  not  been  answered  at  all,  it  is  easy  to  fancy  what 
effect  this  would  have  had  on  the  boy. 

"But  a  great  many  women,"  says  Jane,  "don't  want 
careers.  They  want  to  stay  at  home,  just  as  they  always 
have,  being  mothers.  Why,  I  wouldn't  give  up  John, 
Junior,  for  anything  else  in  the  world!  You  ought  to  know 
that!  Or  —  or  John,  either.  Of  course,  I  want  to  have  my 
rights,  —  economic  and  otherwise,  —  but  I  guess  I  can 
manage  that  all  right  whether  I  vote  or  not.  I  got  that  job 
running  the  elevator  once,  and  I  can  get  it  again,  if  I  have 
to.  But  I  want  to  vote,  so  that  I  can  be  an  influence  for 
good  in  the  world." 

Well,  my  dear  Jane,  are  n't  you?  And,  if  you  are  n't,  why 
are  n't  you?  If  that  is  your  only  argument  for  suffrage,  if 
you  don't  care  about  a  career,  if  you  're  not  worrying  about 
economic  independence,  your  theory  falls  to  pieces  like  a 
child's  house  of  cards.  Most  women  deal  with  individuals 
far  more  successfully  than  they  do  with  masses;  their  out 
look  is  intensely  personal,  their  perspective  is  apt  to  be  a 
little  inaccurate.  They  have,  for  instance,  if  they  possess 
strong  characters,  tremendous  power  over  the  men  they 
know.  They  have  very  little,  except  indirectly,  over  the 
men  they  do  not  know.  (I  am  speaking,  of  course,  now,  of 
the  "average  woman,"  not  of  the  unusually  brilliant  or 
highly  trained  or  charming  exception  who  proves  the  rule.) 
We  have  already  discussed  what  a  woman  can  do  for  her 
sons,  and  I  believe  it  is  here  that  her  greatest  work  lies;  but 
she  can  do  much,  too,  for  other  women's  sons,  supplement 
ing  what  they  have  already  accomplished,  for  her  brothers, 


264  ON  THE  FENCE 

for  her  friends,  for  her  father,  for  her  lover,  for  her  husband. 
What  she  makes  of  them  is  like  a  pebble  thrown  into  a 
placid  pool  —  it  causes  an  almost  endless  number  of  ever- 
widening  circles  to  form.  She  does  not  need  to  vote  with 
them,  to  do  this.  She  needs  only  to  love  them;  I  mean  by 
this,  of  course,  to  love  them  wisely,  and  to  love  them 
enough. 

I  know  a  great  many  women  who  during  the  war  were  so 
busy  sewing  for  the  Red  Cross  that  they  had  no  time  left 
to  devote  to  the  members  of  their  own  families  who  went 
overseas.  I  cannot  believe  that  they  were  the  ones  who  did 
the  most  good.  We  are  so  proudly  conscious  —  as  we  have 
every  reason  to  be,  nowadays  —  of  what  the  women  who 
have  gone  out  of  their  homes  have  done,  that  I  think  we 
are  apt  to  forget  what  the  ones  who  have  stayed  there  have 
accomplished.  I  know  a  woman  whose  own  household  de 
mands  are  very  heavy,  and  who  feels  —  rightly,  I  believe, 
in  her  case  —  that  these  should  always  come  first.  But 
when  the  war  began,  she  grieved,  very  sincerely,  because 
she  seemed  to  have  so  little  time  for  the  kind  of  work  that 
most  of  her  friends  were  doing.  She  knitted  a  few  sleeveless 
sweaters  after  the  children  were  in  bed  at  night;  she  bought 
a  few  small  Liberty  bonds;  she  ate  no  candy  or  white  bread. 
But  that  was  very  little,  after  all.  She  saw  other  women 
she  knew  sailing  for  France  as  Red  Cross  nursesorY.M.C.A. 
workers,  and  others  efficiently  conducting  big  "campaigns  " 
and  "drives,"  with  a  discouraged  sense  of  her  own  useless- 
ness,  of  the  futility  of  the  small  efforts  she  did  make.  And 
still,  when  the  necessary  things  at  home  were  done,  she  had 
no  more  time  left. 

Then,  unexpectedly,  a  great  source  of  comfort  came  to 
her.  A  friend  of  hers,  who  lived  in  the  same  village,  had  a 
letter  from  her  brother  at  a  training-camp,  and  brought  it 
to  read  to  the  woman  who  felt  that  she  never  accomplished 
anything. 


ON  THE  FENCE  265 

"We  were  sitting  around  last  night  talking,"  the  embryo 
soldier  wrote,  "about  the  places  we  came  from.  Our  cap 
tain,  who  was  with  us,  started  it.  He  is  a  Southerner,  and 
I  remarked  that  I  supposed  he  had  never  been  in  New 
England.  He  at  once  looked  as  if  he  were  recalling  some 
thing  very  pleasant,  and  said  yes,  indeed,  he  once  took  a 
canoe  trip  with  a  friend  down  the  X  River,  and  camped 
one  night  on  some  beautiful  meadows  near  the  village  of 
Y.  You  can  believe  I  jumped  when  I  heard  him  speak  of 
home  like  that.  In  the  morning  they  found  that  they  were 
getting  pretty  short  of  some  necessities,  he  said,  and  they 
decided  to  go  to  the  nearest  house  and  see  if  they  could  buy 
them.  So  they  walked  up  over  the  fields  until  they  came 
to  a  big  old-fashioned  house. 

"  'The  door  was  opened/  the  captain  went  on,  'by  the 
lady  of  the  house  herself.  She  quite  evidently  was  n't  a 
rich  woman,  and  she  was  very  simply  dressed;  but  she  was 
young  and  gracious  and  charming  for  all  that.  We  intro 
duced  ourselves,'  —  the  captain  was  some  kind  of  a  pro 
fessor,  nothing  eminent,  but  a  good  sort,  —  '  and  then  she 
invited  us  to  come  in,  and  —  perhaps  we  looked  rather 
hungry  —  to  stay  to  lunch.  She  had  an  agreeable  husband 
—  a  farmer  —  and  two  or  three  attractive  and  unusually 
well-brought-up  children.  There  was  no  fuss  and  flurry 
over  "unexpected  company,"  but  the  lunch  was  awfully 
good,  just  the  same.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  she  was  not 
only  hospitable,  but  a  good  housekeeper.  Afterwards  she 
gave  us  everything  we  could  possibly  need  in  the  way  of 
provisions,  and  sent  us  on  our  way  rejoicing/ 

"Of  course,  before  the  captain  had  got  anywhere  near 

that  far,  I  realized  that  he  was  talking  about  Anne  Z . 

He  had  described  her  to  a  T.  But  he  did  a  good  deal  more 
than  describe  her. 

"  'I  've  thought  of  that  woman  so  many  times  since,'  he 


266  ON  THE  FENCE 

said,  'and  hoped  I'd  see  her  again  someti  me.  She  's  the 
kind  that  does  you  most  good  to  remember  in  times  like 
these.  It  was  n't  only  that  she  took  time  to  be  kind  to  the 
stranger  within  her  gates.  But  there  was  an  atmosphere  of 
peacefulness,  of  serenity  and  contentment,  about  her,  as 
well  as  of  usefulness.  It  made  you  feel  better  just  to  look 
at  her.  And  she  was  n't  exactly  pretty  either  —  but  she 
was  lovely/  ' 

"Bread  cast  upon  the  waters  coming  back  again  after 
many  days,"  Anne  told  me  afterwards  that  she  said  to  her 
self  when  she  read  that  letter.  That  simple  act  of  courtesy 
and  kindliness  meant  more  to  some  soldier  than  all  the 
sweaters  she  could  ever  knit,  than  all  the  bonds  she  could 
ever  buy.  There  was  never  any  question  for  her  again  as  to 
what  her  best  work  was  —  it  was  simply  to  keep  her  own 
home  fires  burning  so  brightly  that  they  would  reflect  as  far 
away  as  France. 

Anne  does  not  represent  the  majority  of  women.  She  is 
not  even  an  average  woman  —  she  is  far  too  sheltered,  far 
too  happy  for  that.  She  has  had  too  many  privileges,  to 
worry  about  her  rights.  She  is  not  silly  and  selfish  like 
Ethel,  not  self-reliant  and  sturdy  like  Jane.  But  the  fact 
remains  that  she  is  the  sort  of  woman  whom  most  men  pre 
fer,  whom  they  love  best,  think  of  oftenest,  respect  most. 
And  however  much  we  may  state  that  it  makes  no  differ 
ence  what  they  prefer,  we  have  got  to  take  their  likes  and 
dislikes  into  consideration,  if  we  are  to  work  side  by  side 
with  them,  for  a  time,  at  least.  Without  their  cooperation 
we  shall  not  accomplish  much.  We  are  too  untrained  and 
untried. 

"I  have  met  several  women,"  a  very  able  man  said  to 
me  once,  "whose  vote  I  thought  would  do  a  great  deal  of 
good  —  and  I  found  they  were  all  anti-suffragists! "  "  Why 
is  it,"  another  —  a  young  merchant  —  asked  me,  "that 


ON  THE  FENCE  267 

when  women  take  up  public  work,  —  of  course,  I  see  it 
most  in  drummers;  there  are  lots  of  women  drummers  now 
adays;  but  it  applies  to  anything  else  just  as  well,  —  some 
of  them  grow  so  masculine,  and  some  of  them  so  —  cheap? 
Either  way  —  one  is  as  bad  as  the  other  —  the  bloom 
seems  to  get  all  rubbed  off.  I  suppose  it 's  inevitable.  But 
I  like  to  think  of  a  woman  as  something  so  apart,  so  clean!" 

We  may  exclaim  —  I  know  I  did  —  that  this  is  an  exag 
gerated  statement :  that  the  bloom  does  n't  always  get 
rubbed  off;  or,  if  it  does,  whose  fault  is  it?  the  woman's,  or 
that  of  the  men  with  whom  she  deals?  That,  anyway, 
bloom  isn't  important  —  it's  only  pleasant;  that  one 
does  n't  need  to  live  apart  to  be  clean.  We  may  shout  to 
the  skies  that  men  who  are  themselves  marvels  of  efficiency 
are  unreasonable  in  preferring  to  sit  in  front  of  a  fire  talking 
to  a  woman  with  a  quiet  face  and  a  still  more  quiet  voice, 
who  is  not,  according  to  their  standards,  efficient  at  all, 
rather  than  seek  out  one  who  is;  that  others,  who  go  about 
sowing  wild  oats  on  every  highway,  expecting  to  be  for 
given  whenever  they  see  fit  to  repent  and  stop,  are  unjust 
when  they  demand  that  a  woman's  high-walled  garden 
should  be  fragrant  with  roses.  Perhaps  they  are  unreason 
able,  perhaps  they  are  unfair  (perhaps  we  are,  too,  some 
times),  but  the  fact  remains.  They  continue  to  bow  down 
to  the  kind  of  woman  whom  we  call  a  lady.  And  lady,  as 
we  all  know,  meant  originally  "giver  of  bread."  Not  the 
beggar  for  anything,  not  even  for  that  to  which  she  is  justly 
entitled,  but  the  giver  of  the  staff  of  life;  the  symbol  of  the 
power  to  give  life  itself. 

It  is,  then,  women  like  Anne  to  whom  I  think  we  must 
turn  first  of  all  in  the  new  responsibilities  that  we  must 
face,  in  the  heavier  burdens  that  we  must  carry  until, 
through  readjustment,  these  burdens  become  lighter  per 
haps  than  they  have  ever  been  before,  if  only  because  it  is 


268  ON  THE  FENCE 

through  women  like  her  that  men  will  be  most  ready  to 
work  with  us.  If  she  refuses  to  work  with  us,  we  shall  be 
hardly  placed  indeed.  But,  whatever  her  opinions  have 
been  in  the  past,  —  whatever  they  are  now,  for  that  matter, 
—  I  do  not  believe  she  will  refuse.  Suffrage  is  coming,  and 
it  is  coming  to  stay.  It  has  not  been  "forced "on  any  of  us. 
If  the  women  who  did  not  want  it  are  as  numerous  as  the 
ones  who  did,  or  more  so,  as  many  of  them  claim,  then  they 
did  not  work  as  hard  to  prevent  its  coming  as  the  ones  who 
did  want  it  worked  to  bring  it  about.  They  have  only 
themselves  to  blame  that  it  is  here;  and  the  thing  to  do  now 
is  to  stop  crying  over  spilled  milk,  to  stop  remembering 
that  there  is  any  spilled  milk,  —  or  while  remembering,  to 
ask  themselves  who  spilled  it,  —  and  do  the  best  they  canto 
make  it  a  success. 

I  am  perfectly  willing  to  make  a  personal  matter  of  this, 
-to  say  "I"  instead  of  "they,"  —  if  anyone  prefers  to 
have  me.  I  have  been  an  anti-suffragist  all  my  life;  I  dread 
the  very  thought  of  voting;  and  yet  I  have  never  done  any 
thing  to  prevent  the  coming  of  suffrage  except  once,  long 
ago,  to  lend  my  name  to  a  small  anti-suffrage  society.  I 
know  dozens  of  other  women,  who,  if  they  would  be  fair, 
would  admit  the  same  thing.  I  do  not  know  a  single  suffra 
gist  who  has  not  worked  heart  and  soul  for  what  she  wanted 
and  believed  she  ought  to  have.  Let  us  be  fair.  To  the 
victors  belong  the  spoils. 

But  the  glory  of  the  conquered  is  sometimes  a  very  great 
glory  indeed.  Some  men  have  voted  for  suffrage  in  a  spirit 
of  spite,  almost,  because  they  are  "sick  of  the  whole  thing," 
because  it  is  "better  to  let  women  have  what  they  want 
peacefully  as  long  as  they  will  get  it  anyway,"  —  exactly  as 
a  certain  type  of  man  gives  in  before  his  wife's  tears,  —  but 
neither  respecting  them  because  they  want  it,  nor  trusting 
them  to  use  it  well  after  they  have  got  it.  It  is  for  Anne  to 
prove  to  them  that  they  are  wrong. 


ON  THE  FENCE  269 

Other  men  have  voted  for  it  in  a  spirit  of  fairness,  —  al 
most  of  reverence,  —  not  only  believing  that  we  are  enti 
tled  to  it,  but  believing  much  more  than  that  —  that  we  can 
be  trusted  to  do  well  with  this,  in  addition  to  the  things 
that  we  do  well  already.  It  is  for  Anne  to  prove  to  them 
that  they  are  right. 

I  am  not  clever  enough,  I  am  not  far-sighted  enough,  to 
know  how  she  can  do  it.  It  seems  to  me,  as  I  have  said  be 
fore,  that  her  arms  are  full  to  overflowing  already.  That  is 
why  I  am  still  on  the  fence.  I  love  best  to  think  of  her,  too, 
beside  her  glowing  fire  or  in  her  sunny  garden,  with  her 
children  beside  her.  But  I  do  not  feel  that  it  is  fair  to  say 
that  the  women  who  have  let  their  own  fires  go  out,  who 
have  neglected  their  gardens  until  they  were  overgrown 
with  weeds,  are  dragging  her  out  against  her  will.  I  am 
optimistic  enough  to  believe  that  there  are  not  many  such 
women  anyway.  I  think  it  is  rather  the  ones  who  have 
never  been  able  to  own  a  garden,  who  have  had  no  wood 
with  which  to  build  their  fires,  who  are  calling  to  her  through 
the  few  that  can  give  voice  to  their  cry,  to  come  and  help 
them.  The  average  woman,  who  despises  the  stupid  selfish 
ness  of  Ethel  and  quails  before  the  stern  efficiency  of  Jane, 
turns  instinctively  to  Anne  to  help  her.  She  has  never 
failed  anyone  in  her  life.  She  will  not  fail  anyone  now. 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

ANNE   C.    E.   ALLINSON 

WHEN  the  outward  order  disturbs  or  displeases,  man  has 
always  sought  another  of  his  own  fashioning. 

The  wrong  of  unshapely  things  is  a  wrong  too  great  to  be  told; 
I  hunger  to  build  them  anew. 

If  the  disturbance  has  been  on  a  large  scale,  great  cities  and 
states  have  been  reared  by  the  imagination.  When  Athens 
soiled  her  democracy  by  injustice  toward  Socrates,  and 
had  lost  her  external  glory  under  the  victorious  attacks  of 
Sparta,  there  arose  Plato's  ideal  republic,  a  state  conceived 
in  righteousness  and  dedicated  to  justice.  When  the  Visi 
goths  were  destroying  the  walls  of  Rome,  burning  and  sack 
ing  the  world's  centre,  Saint  Augustine  pointed  to  the 
impregnable  battlements  of  the  City  of  God.  When  the 
England  of  Henry  VIII  became  unendurable  to  good  men, 
Sir  Thomas  More  furnished  a  mental  refuge  in  Utopia. 

Genius  is  immortal,  and  to  one  or  another  of  these  states, 
men  in  later  epochs  have  often  turned.  But  their  successive 
births  prove  also  that  each  racked  and  suffering  age  will 
find  its  own  way  to  expression.  The  desire  for  citizenship 
in  a  country  other  than  the  visible  is  naturally  strongest 
when  the  outward  order  most  profoundly  fails.  Builders  of 
ideal  republics  are  not  much  noticed  in  periods  of  content. 
In  1912,  in  a  book  on  the  Greek  genius,  occurred  these 
sentences :  — 

"Our  own  age  would  probably  decide  against  [Plato]. 
Things  are  well  with  it.  It  is  making  money  fast;  educa 
tion  and  recreation  are  cheap;  science  has  removed  many 
causes  of  misery;  savagery  and  revolution  are  rare;  so  at 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT         271 

present  we  are  riding  high  on  a  wave  of  humanism,  and  are 
optimistic  about  the  nature  of  man  and  the  rapidity  of  the 
march  on  Paradise." 

It  seems  incredible  that  this  could  have  been  said  of  our 
civilization  by  an  intelligent  student  only  six  years  ago.1 
Plunged  into  the  hell  of  war,  we  now  seem  forever  to  have 
lost  the  road  to  Paradise.  The  most  carefully  educated 
nation  in  the  world  has  proved  the  most  uncivilized. 
Science  has  produced  horrible  instruments  of  torture  and 
destruction.  Savagery  stalks  the  land  and  sea  and  befouls 
the  very  air.  Instead  of  riding  high  on  a  wave  of  humanism, 
we  are  swept  into  the  maelstrom  of  barbarism.  Perhaps  this 
cataclysmic  disturbance  of  our  own  order  may  give  form 
and  life  to  some  new  spiritual  city,  a  mighty  work  of  suffer 
ing  genius  inspired  by  ruin  and  despair.  Some  watcher  of 
the  skies  above  the  bleeding  fields  of  Belgium  or  Serbia  or 
Poland  may  bid  us  lift  our  weeping  eyes  to  a  new  star 
bright  with  liberty  and  love. 

But  genius*  when  it  speaks,  will  but  give  art's  wholeness 
to  our  own  broken,  half-formed  longings.  Already  each 
suffering  soul  is  seeking  its  own  place  of  retreat.  It  may  be 
well  to  dwell  for  a  little  on  the  quest  and  the  goal. 

The  imagination  is  a  natural  vagrant.  Even  when  we 
are  not  suffering,  we  are  in  the  habit  of  turning  away  from 
the  actual  to  the  ideal,  of  devising  for  ourselves  a  tent  for 
the  fancy,  a  covert  from  life's  unshapeliness.  Such  refuges 
are  often  a  quaint  combination  of  the  inward  and  outward. 
Displeased  with  conditions  in  this  place  or  that,  we  have 
flown  in  memory  to  other  places  where,  once  upon  a  time, 
for  us,  a  fairer  order  prevailed.  Although  actually  on 
the  world's  map,  these  become  almost  dreamlands,  so  com 
pletely  do  we  free  them  from  the  dust  of  actuality  and  set 
them  stainless  and  bright  before  the  inward  eye. 
1  Written  in  1918. 


272        ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

Moods  of  vagrancy  differ.  At  times  we  seek  a  retreat 
from  the  mere  insignificance  of  our  occupations.  There  is  a 
round  of  activity  which  seems  never  to  set  us  further  along 
our  road.  Obligations  which  hold  us  in  a  vise  seem  artificial. 
The  transitory  crowds  in  upon  the  essential.  Intercourse 
with  other  people  lacks  depth  and  completeness.  We  share 
the  sickening  sense  of  futility  described  by  Seneca:  "Life 
is  not  painful,  but  superfluous." 

The  occasion  suggests  no  heroic  philosophy.  We  only 
turn,  in  memory  or  anticipation,  to  some  dearer  place, where 
work  has  seemed  worthwhile,  play  has  been  sweet,  and  peo 
ple  have  been  real.  We  take  the  Horatian  road  from  Rome 
to  the  Sabine  farm.  Some  "smiling  corner  of  the  earth" 
holds  for  us  enthusiasms  caught  from  the  unplumbed, 
the  illimitable,  the  unquenchable.  There,  a  fine  sincerity 
gives  the  lie  to  cynicism,  and  simplicity  of  heart  removes 
the  sense  of  life's  futility. 

Quite  another  refuge  opens  in  quite  another  and  larger 
mood.  Intellectually  we  chafe  against  certain  limitations 
which  are  imposed  upon  us  by  our  national  civilization. 
We  understand  why  our  artists  and  authors  of  ten  expatriate 
themselves.  Even  for  us  these  external  conditions  seem  to 
hold  no  color,  no  charm,  no  romance  drawn  from  a  myste 
rious  past,  no  beauty  of  age-old  manners  and  customs.  We 
are  uninteresting,  unsuggestive.  The  imagination  sleeps. 
Producing  much  that  is  ennobled  by  worth  and  power,  we 
produce  little  that  is  roseate  with  charm  or  vibrant  with 
feeling.  Blood  runs  cold  in  us.  Loveliness  is  a  stranger  to 
us. 

Then,  surely,  we  spread  our  magic  carpet  and  fly  across 
the  unviolated  sea  to  Italy.  There,  around  any  corner,  is 
something  lovely,  or  passionate,  or  mysterious.  Perhaps, 
across  an  Umbrian  valley,  two  hill-towns  draw  us  back  and 
forth,  one  lowering  with  Cinquecento  memories  of  the  high 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT        273 

and  mighty  Baglioni,  who  spilled  the  blood  of  their  enemies 
even  on  the  steps  of  the  Duomo;  the  other  still  sweet  and 
fragrant  with  the  spirit  of  Saint  Francis.  In  the  valley  we 
listen  for  the  tramp  of  Roman  feet,  or  try  to  catch  the 
strange  Etruscan  tongue  among  the  oblivious  vineyards 
and  olive  orchards,  even  while  we  are  enchanted  by  the 
voices  of  the  living  peasants,  who  greet  us  with  the  mingled 
manners  of  child  and  prince. 

In  one  little  town  there  are  white  oxen  to  watch  in  the 
cattle-market,  their  horns  aflame  with  scarlet  ribbons,  or 
brilliant  majolica  to  buy  in  the  ancient  square,  by  the  foun 
tain.  In  the  other  there  is  Giotto's  hand,  picturing  the  heart 
of  Francis.  Here  the  pure  dawn  seems  ever  breaking  with  a 
flush  of  rose  in  a  holy  sky.  There  the  sun  goes  down,  red  as 
the  wounds  of  the  slain.  Angel-faced  and  bloodstained 
generations,  purity  and  passion  wrought  by  the  centuries, 
all  can  be  ours,  when  we  are  irked  by  the  monotones  of  our 
own  new  day. 

But  discontent  is  not  always  impressionistic.  Sometimes, 
in  nobler  mood,  we  are  baffled  by  the  disharmony  of  all  mod 
ern  life.  Wealth  without  temperance,  democracy  without 
standards  of  excellence,  pleasures  without  taste,  liberty 
without  reverence,  mercy  without  reason,  power  without 
restraint  —  our  best  possessions  are  at  variance  with  others 
equally  desirable.  In  isolated  orbits  men  strive  for  sepa 
rate  ends.  The  artist  despises  the  politician,  and  the  poli 
tician  overlooks  the  poet.  The  capitalist  pities  the  scholar, 
and  the  scholar  wonders  at  the  merchant.  Statecraft  and 
art  do  not  recognize  each  other.  Philanthropy  and  the 
humanities  pass  as  strangers. 

From  this  confusion  there  is  a  refuge.  It  is  a  bright  city 
by  the  /Egean  Sea,  where  once  men  created  an  harmonious 
state,  and  where  still  the  very  ruins  of  the  public  buildings 
of  that  state  feed  the  soul  with  an  impression  of  harmony. 

19 


274        ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

Here,  on  a  height  above  the  plain,  one  may  sit  and  lean 
against  a  Doric  column,  golden  with  age,  fresh  with  death 
less  beauty.  The  landscape  before  the  eyes  is  very  noble. 
The  moving  sea,  the  buoyant  air,  give  life  and  vigor  to  the 
statuesque  austerity  of  the  encircling  mountains.  On  plain 
and  hill  and  shore  perfect  color  glows  upon  perfect  form. 

Within  this  area  there  came  into  being  a  people  who 
created  "the  fairest  halting-place  in  the  secular  march  of 
man."  Their  primal  passion  for  freedom  resolved  itself 
tripartitely  into  free  institutions,  art,  and  intellectual  in 
quiry.  And  these  again  coalesced  into  a  brief  unity,  un 
known  among  men  before  or  since.  Reason,  beauty,  and 
liberty  were  welded  together  in  their  laws,  their  religion, 
their  society,  their  statues  and  buildings,  their  manners, 
even  their  clothes  and  the  utensils  for  their  food  and  drink. 
On  their  ageless  Acropolis,  laden  with  broken  fragments  of 
the  past,  harmony  still  dwells,  no  pensive  ghost,  but  a  living 
and  ennobling  presence.  Here  is  a  retreat  from  the  un- 
moulded,  the  unperfected. 

We  have  been  speaking  of  these  refuges  of  the  mind  as  if 
they  still  existed  for  us.  But  the  fact  is  that  the  war  has 
destroyed  their  imaginative  value.  Our  Sabine  farm  must 
produce  food  or  fuel.  In  Perugia  or  Assisi  we  should  now  be 
seeking  only  news  from  the  Piave.  In  Athens  none  of  us 
could  dream  by  a  column  of  the  Parthenon  while  Venizelos 
was  speaking  in  the  Senate  chamber  below.  To  all  these 
places  we  might  thankfully  go  in  the  flesh,  to  work,  to  help, 
to  share  the  fate  of  the  living;  but  no  longer  do  we  seek 
them  in  dreams  as  enchanted  hiding-places  from  imaginary 
troubles. 

Imaginary?  Yes,  for  the  danger  of  the  hour  wakes  us 
from  the  unreality  of  minor  disturbances.  What  time  is 
there  for  artificial  or  futile  occupations  in  towns  and  cities 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT        275 

that  we  must  make  ready  for  their  share  in  a  mighty  strug 
gle?  What  concern  can  we  feel  for  magic  charm,  when  our 
country  is  grappling  with  the  barbarian?  Even  delicate  and 
harmonious  adjustments  seem  unimportant,  while  justice 
and  liberty  and  humaneness  are  in  mortal  peril. 

Thus  we  are  taken  away  from  such  annoyances  in  the 
outward  order  as  may  be  accidental  in  our  own  experience, 
or  philosophy,  and  placed  in  the  universal  attitude  of  the 
times.  All  of  us  are  experiencing  danger  when  we  want 
security,  sorrow  when  we  want  joy,  death  when  we  want 
life. 

In  a  desert,  we  are  told,  the  primary  needs  of  life  are 
nakedly  revealed.  Hunger  and  thirst  and  danger  cannot 
be  concealed;  "there  is  nothing  to  posture  hi  front  of  them." 
So  in  the  wilderness  of  our  present  life  there  are  no  screens 
before  our  deepest  needs.  We  see  them  and  know  them  to 
be  unsatisfied.  We  have  the  clarified  vision  which  comes  to 
an  individual  in  personal  sorrow,  when  many  ambitions  and 
desires  are  found  to  have  no  reality  in  comparison  with  the 
longing  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand.  But  now  it  is  not 
only  our  own  little  order  that  is  disturbed  and  broken,  but 
the  outward  order,  from  horizon  to  horizon.  We  grieve,  not 
only  for  some  lost  happiness  of  our  own,  but  for  the  sorrows 
of  millions  of  our  fellows  whom  we  have  never  seen,  for  the 
shattered  peace,  the  dishonored  law,  the  mutilated  justice 
of  the  world. 

Deep  despair  always  demands  a  refuge  which  will  not 
prove  illusory  when  we  seek  admittance.  In  the  larger  dis 
appointments  of  experience  men  have  sometimes  turned  to 
the  unchanging  beauty  of  nature,  as  opposed  to  the  ugly 
acts  of  humanity,  or  to  the  beauty  of  art,  which  is  an  inter 
preter  of  life.  How  well  do  these  things  serve  us  now? 

It  is,  probably,  safe  to  assert  that  only  deliberate  recluses 
—  and  there  must  be  few  of  these  —  find  in  even  the  loveli- 


276        ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

est  landscape  more  than  a  temporary  anodyne  for  to-day's 
sorrow.  In  flight  from  personal  pain  and  passion,  one  may, 
indeed,  have  found  a  lasting  peace  upon  the  breast  of  Na 
ture.  But  her  welcome  is  less  satisfying  when  we  ask  for 
release  from  the  pain  and  passion  of  the  world.  It  is  a  brute 
fact  that  the  war  sobs  between  us  and  the  myriad  laughter 
of  the  breeze-swept  bay,  when  the  waves  sport  gently  upon 
a  rocky  shore  of  the  Atlantic.  It  roars  between  us  and  the 
deep-toned  music  of  the  open  ocean,  as  the  Pacific  falls  in 
white  surf  upon  wide  dunes  of  sand.  It  slips  a  veil  between 
us  and  the  sunny  pasture,  where  purple  grasses  and  pink 
laurel  glow  beneath  the  shining  pines  and  sombre  firs.  It 
hangs  as  a  pall  between  us  and  the  vast  summits  of  eter 
nal  snow,  monuments  of  tranquillity  born  of  primordial 
convulsions. 

At  the  best,  Nature  only  uplifts  or  refreshes  us,  in  the 
interludes.  At  the  worst,  she  mocks  our  fears  and  our  cour 
age  with  her  passionless  serenity.  The  beauty-loving  Greeks 
never  expected  to  find  in  the  beautiful  physical  world  a 
final  refuge  for  the  mind  of  man.  That  they  were  right,  our 
romantic  imagination  must  now  concede.  Man's  life  reaches 
beyond  nature,  with  needs  and  tragedies  untouched  by 
her  consolations. 

In  the  case  of  art  there  is  another  element  to  be  consid 
ered.  It  ministers  to  man's  spirit  by  interpretation,  but  it 
has  not  yet  had  time  to  interpret  this  present  unexampled 
need. 

When  a  sick  child  is  well,  or  a  dead  child  buried,  the  poet 
may  fling  his  joy  or  grief  into  immortal  words.  But  he  can 
not  do  it  at  the  moment  when,  by  the  child's  bedside,  he 
is  wrestling  with  the  destroyer.  After  Athens  had  saved 
herself  from  Persia,  ^Eschylus  laid  the  "calming  hand  of 
great  poetry"  upon  even  the  exultation  of  a  righteous 
victor.  But  while  the  struggle  was  on,  he  fought  in  the 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT        277 

ranks  at  Marathon  and  Salamis.  Perhaps  some  day  this 
cinematographic  present  of  ours  will  become  for  others  the 
past  of  which  Bertrand  Russell  once  wrote  with  insight  and 
power :  — 

"The  beauty  of  its  motionless  and  silent  pictures  is  like 
the  enchanted  purity  of  last  autumn,  when  the  leaves, 
though  one  breath  would  make  them  fall,  still  show  against 
the  sky  in  golden  glory.  The  Past  does  not  change  or  strive; 
like  Duncan,  after  life's  fitful  fever  it  sleeps  well;  what  was 
eager  and  grasping,  what  was  petty  and  transitory,  has 
faded  away;  the  things  that  were  beautiful  and  eternal  shine 
out  of  it  like  stars  in  the  night." 

So  out  of  our  tragedies  may  yet  emerge  that  Tragedy 
which  is  "of  all  arts  the  proudest,  the  most  triumphant." 
In  that  day  our  tears  and  blood  will  lighten  men's  anguish, 
even  as  we  are  soothed  by  the  beauty  of  the  tears  and  blood 
which  drenched  the  plain  of  Troy. 

Soothed,  we  say,  because  this  beauty  of  a  Past  inter 
preted  by  poetry  supplies  refreshment,  rather  than  a  per 
fect  refuge  from  the  present.  While  we  read  we  are  safe, 
but  with  the  closing  of  the  book  danger  again  engulfs  us. 
Nor  can  we  read  at  will,  even  in  rare  hours  of  leisure.  We 
are  like  Jerome,  who  exclaimed,  while  the  capital  of  the 
world  was  falling,  "In  vain  I  try  to  draw  myself  away  from 
the  sight  by  turning  to  my  books.  I  am  unable  to  heed 
them." 

The  same  limitation  rests  upon  the  power  of  pictures  and 
carven  marble.  In  music,  probably,  a  larger  number  find, 
persistently,  a  remedial  grace.  But,  even  so,  the  divinest 
melody  furnishes  a  remedy  rather  than  a  cure,  an  inspira 
tion  rather  than  a  salvation.  The  general  statement  is  true 
that,  at  the  height  of  our  anguish,  art  is  no  better  able  than 
nature  permanently  to  reestablish  within,  the  peace  that 
has  been  destroyed  without. 


278        ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

The  foregoing  refuges,  whether  major  or  minor,  have  one 
significant  point  in  common.  Their  present  efficacy  is  de 
nied  by  men  and  women  who  have  tried  them.  From  the 
coverts  of  happy  dreams,  of  nature,  and  of  art,  we  straggle 
back  into  the  desert,  reporting  that  they  are  too  small  to 
hold  the  suffering  soul.  Now  this  one  thing  cleaves  them 
utterly  apart  from  another  refuge  —  from  the  one  that  we 
call  religion.  In  all  ages,  the  power  of  religion  to  shelter  the 
spirit  of  man  has  been  denied  only  by  those  who  have  not 
put  it  to  the  test.  The  triumphant  affirmation  of  those  who 
dwell  within  it  resounds  in  the  diapason  of  the  centuries: 
God  is  my  refuge.  He  hath  delivered  my  soul  in  peace  from 
the  battle  that  was  against  me. 

The  word  God  means  as  many  kinds  of  salvation  as  there 
are  needs  of  salvation.  Definitions  of  religion  run  an  ex 
traordinary  gamut,  even  when  they  are  offered  in  the  same 
hour  and  expressed  in  the  same  speech.  Very  lately,  in  print 
which  is  scarcely  dry  on  the  pages,  this  definition  has  issued 
from  a  philosopher's  study:  "Religion  is  the  experience  con 
stituted  by  those  thoughts,  feelings,  and  actions  which 
spring  from  man's  sense  of  dependence  upon  the  power  or 
powers  controlling  the  universe,  and  which  have  as  their 
centre  of  interest  the  cosmic  fortune  of  values."  From  the 
trenches,  on  the  other  hand,  have  been  flung  these  molten 
words:  "Religion  is  betting  your  life  on  the  existence  of 
God." 

We  may  take  our  choice  of  these  and  other  definitions, 
and  yet  agree  that  the  fruit  of  to-day's  travail  may  prove 
to  be  a  fresh  and  beautiful  religious  consciousness.  Many 
things  do,  indeed,  seem  laden  with  this  prophecy.  But  a 
day  of  revelation  is  always  a  day  of  Pentecost  —  every  man 
hears  the  Spirit  speak  in  his  own  tongue.  Cloven  tongues, 
like  as  of  fire,  will  herald  the  day  of  a  spiritual  renaissance. 

But  the  Spirit's  baptism  will  be  one  and  universal.  And 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT        279 

something,  at  least,  of  its  character  may  be  predicated 
from  the  threefold  characteristics  of  the  religion  which  to 
day  opens  wide  to  the  suffering  soul. 

Religion  is  a  permanent  refuge.  This  is  because  it  is 
reached  by  the  only  road  which  ends  in  permanence.  We 
discover  it,  not  by  a  withdrawal  of  attention  from  the 
actual,  but  by  working  our  way  through  the  seen  to  the 
unseen,  through  the  show  to  the  reality.  "I  take  my  Bible 
and  sit  down  where  I  am"  was  said  by  a  woman  who  had 
known  many  sorrows  to  another  who  was  planning  the  "dis 
traction"  of  travel  in  unaccustomed  grief. 

Never  was  a  more  practical  chart  drawn  for  the  discov 
ery  of  a  trustworthy  haven.  The  vade  mecum  may  be  what 
one  chooses,  but  the  point  of  departure  must  be  the  very 
centre  of  sorrow.  In  our  present  enlarged  experience  of  suf 
fering,  this  has  been  profoundly  true.  If  we  had  run  away 
from  the  world,  we  should  now  be  tasting  the  husks  of  cyn 
icism,  despair,  and  cowardice.  But,  staying  in  full  sight  of 
all  that  appalls  us,  determined,  not  to  forget  but  to  under 
stand,  not  to  escape  but  to  enter,  we  find  ourselves,  in  our 
own  despite,  inspired  to  sacrifice,  sustained  by  hope,  fed 
and  satisfied  with  faith.  Disregarding  the  personal  price, 
we  have  found  the  cosmic  fortune  of  values.  Staking  our 
lives,  we  have  found  God.  Our  covert  never  grows  so 
straitened  that  we  must  abandon  it.  The  temporal  becomes 
eternal.  Though  our  outward  man  perish,  yet  the  inward 
man  is  renewed  day  by  day. 

Religion  is  a  democratic  refuge.  The  democracy  of  faith 
transcends  all  democracies  of  the  imagination.  Nature  and 
art  can  in  no  wise  be  compared  to  it,  for  from  their  consola 
tions  large  groups  of  human  beings  are  automatically  ex 
cluded  by  some  condition  of  servitude.  Philosophers  have 
had  much  to  say  of  inner  citadels,  from  which  the  outward 
order  could  tranquilly  be  surveyed.  Thought,  says  one  of 


280        ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

them,  has  set  us  free  from  "the  tyranny  of  outside  forces," 
free  even  "from  the  petty  planet  on  which  our  bodies  im- 
potently  crawl."  But  the  thought  of  the  philosopher  is  no 
more  a  refuge  for  the  illiterate  than  song  is  for  the  deaf,  or 
nature  for  miners  sunk  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  In  Rome 
Lucretius  frankly  enjoyed  the  Epicurean's  superiority. 
Sweet  it  is  for  the  cragsman,  from  some  high  retreat,  to 
watch  the  legions  clashing  in  the  battlefield  below,  but 

Sweeter  by  far  on  Wisdom's  rampired  height 

To  pace  serene  the  porches  of  the  light, 

And  thence  look  down  —  down  on  the  purblind  herd 

Seeking  and  never  finding  in  the  night. 

But  now  that  we  are  suffering  together  around  the  world, 
ruler  and  commoner,  rich  and  poor,  learned  and  unlearned, 
who  is  so  mean  as  to  hide  himself  in  a  retreat  to  which 
others  may  not  find  the  way?  Nor  could  any  such  retreat 
be  more  than  a  half-way  house  on  the  road  to  that  universal 
Truth  from  which  none  is  ever  turned  away.  "You  can't 
buy  God,"  my  charwoman  said  to  me  as  she  scrubbed  my 
floor.  No,  not  with  money,  or  with  education,  or  with 
talent,  or  with  opportunity.  A  refuge  wide  enough  to  re 
ceive  the  poilu  with  the  general,  the  child  with  the  philos 
opher,  the  dull  with  the  gifted,  is  the  only  refuge  wide 
enough  to  satisfy  my  soul,  to  give  me  beauty  for  ashes,  the 
oil  of  joy  for  mourning,  the  garment  of  praise  for  the  spirit 
of  heaviness. 

Surely  our  consciousness  of  spiritual  unity  will,  like  a 
great  wind,  sweep  away  the  arrogance  that  has  hung  about 
even  our  ideal  turrets.  A  modern  intellectualist,  while  ad 
mitting  that  each  one  of  us  has  some  "other  life"  than  that 
of  the  visible  order,  issues  this  curious  ultimatum:  "The 
advocates  of  this  Other  Life  must  not  promise  too  much. 
They  must  not  speak  to  us  of  regions  of  light  and  truth 
made  perfect,  nor  of  fields  unshaken  by  snow  and  tempest, 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT        281 

where  joy  grows  like  a  tree.  .  .  .  Our  refuge  promises  no 
eternal  bliss.  It  gives  only  a  rally  ing-point,  a  spell  of  peace 
in  which  to  breathe  and  to  think,  a  sense,  not  exactly  of 
happiness,  but  of  that  patience  and  courage  which  form  at 
least  a  good  working  substitute  for  happiness.'* 

But  what  is  this  but  attempted  autocracy  in  the  realm 
where  the  spirit  bloweth  as  it  listeth?  Because  the  Roman 
Stoics  found  only  courage  and  patience  in  their  refuge,  was 
Paul  not  to  publish  abroad  the  hope  and  joy  which  he  found 
in  his?  Because  followers  of  Epicurus,  ancient  or  modern, 
find  in  the  Sum  of  Things  no  concern  for  themselves,  are 
the  followers  of  Christ  to  deny  the  Spirit's  whisper:  I  will 
come  in  to  him  and  will  sup  with  him  and  he  with  me?  And 
—  a  worse  autocracy  still  —  shall  those  who  hear  this  whis 
per  seek  to  confine  it  within  words  and  phrases  fashioned 
by  themselves? 

We  are  struggling  for  the  spread  of  democracy  in  the 
outer  world.  Shall  we  not  thereby  bring  into  being  a  heav 
enly  democracy?  In  God's  house  are  many  mansions,  but 
one  home. 

Finally,  religion  is  a  fruitful  refuge.  It  is  pregnant  with 
blessings  for  the  outward  order.  In  God  there  is  no  escape 
from  the  world,  but  the  will  to  remake  it  in  his  image.  Our 
Refuge  becomes  our  Strength. 

A  spiritual  renaissance  is  as  destructive  to  the  mediaeval- 
ist  who  looks  for  salvation  only  in  Paradise  as  to  the  weak 
ling  who  seeks  it  in  temporary  distraction.  The  great  ideal 
ists  have  not  built  cities  in  the  skies,  mere  cloud-cuckoo 
towns  for  a  race  that  cannot  walk  upon  the  earth.  Saint 
Augustine  interpreted  God's  City  to  be  the  Christian 
Church.  Sir  Thomas  More  and  Plato  built  cities  to  be 
inhabited  by  Englishmen  and  by  Greeks. 

If  some  ideal  republic  is  born  of  genius  to-day,  it  will 
but  give  artistic  form  to  the  practical  desires  actuating 


282        ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

ourselves,  our  governments,  our  armies.  We  do  not,  and  we 
ought  not  to,  admit  that  freedom,  justice,  and  humaneness 
belong  only  outside  of  this  world's  order.  Those  who  return 
from  Belgium  tell  us  that  the  people  of  that  country  have 
planned  the  very  route  in  the  streets  of  the  capital  through 
which  Albert  shall  march  back  with  and  to  his  own.  Our 
purest  idealism  does  not  send  us  skulking  to  some  hiding- 
place  where  we  cannot  see  the  wrongs  of  Belgium,  but 
drives  us  forth  to  win  our  right  to  an  ally's  place  in  that 
triumphal  procession. 

If  all  wrong  cannot  be  righted  by  ourselves,  then  we  must 
pave  the  way  for  this  accomplishment  by  our  children's 
children.  If  reason  asserts  that  the  end  can  never  be 
achieved  in  entirety,  faith  still  bids  each  man  stake  his  life 
on  the  triumph  of  God.  Because  no  mind  can  fail  to  see  the 
difficulty  of  catching  the  ideal,  as  it  wings  its  infinite 
flight,  within  the  net  of  the  actual,  Plato  admits  that  his 
perfect  state  is  confined  to  the  region  of  speculation .  But, 
he  adds,  what  difference  does  that  make?  "The  question  of 
its  present  or  future  existence  is  quite  unimportant,  for  the 
man  of  understanding  will  adopt  the  practices  of  such  a  city 
to  the  exclusion  of  every  other."  Citizenship  in  the  spiritual 
controls  a  man's  acts  in  the  visible  commonwealth. 

Metaphors  vary,  but  the  spirit  remains  the  same  in  all 
the  greater  idealists.  Even  the  early  Christian  visionary, 
whose  horror  of  the  abominations  of  Rome  resulted  in  the 
"revelation"  to  his  imagination  of  a  new  and  holy  city  al 
most  completely  dissociated  from  reality,  declared  that 
from  its  holiness  must  come  salvation  for  the  world  of  men. 
Through  his  city  ran  a  pure  river  of  life,  crystal-clear,  and 
on  either  side  of  the  river  grew  the  tree  of  life  —  and  the 
leaves  of  the  tree  were  for  the  healing  of  the  nations.  It  is 
true  that  the  early  Christians  in  general,  an  obscure  and 
helpless  minority  in  a  great  Empire,  forced  by  their  very 


ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT        283 

position  to  think  in  terms  of  inward  rather  than  of  outward 
power,  tended  to  become  altogether  too  detached  from  the 
world  in  which  they  lived.  They  believed,  indeed,  that  the 
visible  order  was  soon  to  be  destroyed  and  therefore  need 
not  be  improved.  Impotent  in  the  flesh,  they  turned  their 
thoughts  heavenward.  But  in  this  they  were  almost  as  re 
mote  from  the  spirit  of  Christ  as  from  the  minds  of  their 
pagan  neighbors. 

In  the  homeliest  figures  —  since  those  who  listened  un 
derstood  little  of  citizenship,  but  much  of  daily  toil  —  the 
founder  of  Christianity  indicated  the  true  relation  between 
the  inner  and  the  outer  life:  candles  are  lighted  for  the  use 
of  those  in  the  house;  branches  draw  sustenance  from  the 
vine  in  order  to  turn  it  into  grapes.  Even  in  the  last  hours, 
before  He  was  slain,  when  the  outward  had  completely 
failed  Him,  and  He  had  but  one  last  opportunity  to  reveal 
his  inward  visions,  He  said  to  his  disciples,  "I  have  chosen 
and  ordained  you,  that  ye  should  go  and  bring  forth  fruit." 

So  fruitful  was  their  particular  idealism  that,  in  spite  of 
all  mistakes  and  limitations,  these  unworldly  disciples  and 
their  followers  did,  in  time,  completely  change  the  aspect  of 
their  world.  It  is  a  commonplace  of  history  that  a  new 
spiritual  consciousness  transformed  the  philosophy,  the 
art  and  literature,  and  the  ethical  standards  of  Western 
civilization. 

Herein  we  have  a  dramatic  illustration  of  the  supreme 
potency  of  religion  in  comparison  with  other  refuges  of  the 
human  spirit.  It  is  religion  that  creates  and  changes  those 
minor  retreats  to  which  the  fancy  and  the  imagination  take 
their  roving  way.  From  a  new  heaven  is  let  fall  a  new  earth. 

If  the  f ruitfulness  of  idealism  seems  often  to  suffer  blight 
and  decay,  we  must  remember  that  the  wretchedness  of  the 
soil  can  counteract  the  vigor  of  the  seed.  Enriched  by  such 
suffering  as  the  world  has  never  known,  quickened  by  a 


284        ENLARGE  THE  PLACE  OF  THY  TENT 

faith  which  survives  the  most  crucial  test  of  history,  we 
shall  yet  bear  fruit  and  our  fruit  shall  remain. 

In  that  day  all  our  longings  will  be  fulfilled.  Life  will 
be  significant,  magical,  and  harmonious.  Nature's  beauty 
will  be  the  matrix  for  beautiful  human  activities.  Art  will 
perfectly  interpret  for  us  the  unseen  and  the  ineffable. 
Justice  and  liberty  will  prevail.  Love  will  be  the  law  of  free 
peoples. 

It  is  but  a  matter  of  enlarging  the  place  of  our  tent,  until 
we  rear  one  that  shall  not  be  removed,  the  stakes  whereof 
shall  never  be  plucked,  neither  shall  any  of  the  cords  thereof 
be  broken. 


REASONABLE  HOPES  OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION 

GEORGE    A.    GORDON 

IT  has  been  said  that  "our  dreams  are  the  shadows  of  our 
hopes,"  and  sometimes  it  is  doubtless  the  case  that  our 
hopes  are  the  shadows  of  our  dreams.  In  the  vicious  circles 
of  mere  subjectivity,  idea,  dream,  and  hope  belong  in  the 
category  of  the  null  and  void.  To  gain  and  retain  a  sober 
meaning,  hope  must  be  the  prophet  of  a  reasonable  human 
experience.  Kant's  three  questions  at  once  occur  to  one 
here:  What  can  I  know?  What  ought  I  to  do?  For  what 
may  I  hope?  Knowledge  and  moral  action  are  the  parents 
of  legitimate  hope.  Our  ideas  of  knowledge  and  duty  may 
differ  from  those  of  Kant;  there  can  be  no  difference  among 
sensible  persons  about  the  conclusion  that  authentic  hopes 
are  the  ideal  completions  of  an  imperfect  but  an  essentially 
rational  experience.  The  reasonable  hopes  of  men  are,  there 
fore,  like  the  morning  fires  in  the  East;  they  herald  the  com 
ing  of  the  perfect  day.  America  is  the  land  of  hope;  con 
cerning  the  greatest  force  in  its  life,  its  religion,  shall  it  be 
without  great  hopes? 

"Keep  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,"  is  the  refrain  of  an 
old  negro  melody.  The  negro  toiling  on  the  banks  of  the 
Mississippi  had  observed  that  in  the  mightiest  of  American 
rivers  there  were  shallows,  eddies,  counter-currents,  and  all 
sorts  of  water  pranks.  Hence  his  warning  to  the  navigator : 
"  Keep  in  the  middle  of  the  stream."  The  negro's  observa 
tion  became  a  metaphor  significant  for  the  adventure  of  his 
soul.  In  the  religion  of  his  country  there  are  shallows,  whirl 
pools,  all  sorts  of  eddies  and  oddities.  There  is,  however,  a 
vast  central  movement.  Whoever  would  live  religiously 


286  REASONABLE  HOPES 

must  remain  in  that  great  current;  whoever  would  under 
stand  American  religion  must  watch  the  middle  of  the 
stream.  Otherwise,  while  the  observer  may  write  about  the 
religion  of  America  with  genial  humor,  obvious  charm,  kindly 
sarcasm,  telling  epigram,  and  artistic  ecclesiastical  pur 
pose,  he  must  write  without  insight  into  the  spiritual  life  of 
Americans,  and  however  much  he  may  protest  against  it, 
the  picture  drawn  will  be  "a  chimera,  the  monster"  of  the 
writer's  imagination. 

The  religion  of  Americans,  like  that  of  other  peoples,  ut 
ters  itself  in  no  uniform  manner.  Its  natural  idiom  is  now 
formal  and  again  intangible,  obtrusive  and  evasive,  orderly 
and  vagrant,  superconscious  and  subconscious,  normal  and 
eccentric,  manifesting  itself  here  in  creeds  and  elaborate 
ritual  and  there  as  pure  spirit.  At  last,  in  all  significant  in 
stances,  it  comes  to  something  like  this :  Religion  is  the  ulti 
mate  strength  of  man's  soul,  gathered  mediately  or  imme 
diately  from  the  Soul  of  the  universe.  Its  worth  lies  in  its 
relation  to  life  as  men  wend  their  way  through  the  wild 
mysteries  of  time;  it  is  illumination,  inspiration,  sustaining 
might,  increasing  peace.  Thus  understood,  religion  carries 
in  its  heart  the  principle  of  the  complete  idealization  of 
existence.  The  religious  soul  aims  with  Plato  at  becoming 
like  God  so  far  as  that  is  possible  for  man.  He  directs  his 
life  toward  a  supreme  end;  with  Eudemus,  he  endeavors  to 
behold  God  and  to  serve  Him.  He  expects,  in  the  highest 
sense  of  the  words,  to  fare  well;  with  St.  Paul  he  believes 
that  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them  that  love 
God,  with  Socrates  that  in  life  or  in  death  no  evil  can  hap 
pen  to  a  good  man.  His  religion  is  his  final  satisfaction;  he 
sings  with  Augustine,  "Thou  hast  made  us  for  thyself,  and 
we  are  restless  till  we  repose  in  thee."  He  looks  to  the  In 
finite  as  the  source  of  life's  ideal  and  goal;  he  answers  the 
sublime  call  of  Jesus :  "  Ye  shall  be  perfect  as  your  Heavenly 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  287 

Father  is  perfect."  Religion  is  thus  the  ideal  life  of  a  soul 
conscious  that  it  lives  and  moves  and  has  its  being  in  the  In 
finite  soul,  able  to  utter  its  experience  and  hope  in  the  great 
confession,  "The  Eternal  God  is  thy  dwelling-place,  and  un 
derneath  are  the  everlasting  arms." 

It  is  at  once  admitted  that  nothing  is  satisfactory  in  the 
present  conditions  of  the  religion  of  America.  As  in  every 
other  region  of  our  life,  here,  too,  discontent  and  confusion 
reign.  There  is,  however,  one  great  note  of  prophecy  ring 
ing  in  the  heart  of  religious  America,  audible  above  the 
tumult  of  confused  and  contentious  tongues.  A  group  of 
serious  American  students,  engaged  in  the  arraignment  of 
an  unsatisfactory  college  preacher,  were  silenced  by  one  of 
their  number,  who  said:  "I  plead  for  this  preacher.  He  has 
done  me  a  world  of  good.  As  I  have  watched  him  striving 
earnestly  to  find  something  and  always  failing  to  find  it,  I 
have  been  stimulated  to  hunt  for  that  something  myself. 
I  am  now  engaged  in  the  hunt,  and  I  have  already  found  in 
religion  a  reality  and  greatness  beyond  my  utmost  dream." 
American  churches,  Protestant,  Catholic,  and  Greek  Ortho 
dox,  all  American  religious  bodies,  are  more  or  less  in  the 
condition  of  that  college  preacher.  They  are  unsatisfac 
tory;  they  are  seeking  something  that  they  have  hitherto 
failed  to  find.  They  are,  however,  in  earnest,  and  they  are 
stimulating  by  their  earnestness  and  failure  a  multitude  of 
the  elect  youth  of  the  land  to  undertake  the  search  for  them 
selves.  The  unattained  is  the  glory  of  American  religion. 

The  mood  of  content,  whether  with  the  religious  insight 
won,  the  volume  and  quality  of  experience  secured,  the 
ideals  formed,  the  fellowship  established,  the  influence  ex 
erted,  or  the  character  achieved,  is  to  the  genuine  religious 
American  the  worst  of  all  bad  signs.  Men  are  in  an  infinite 
world;  they  are  capable  of  growth  indefinitely  great;  con 
tent  with  present  attainments,  therefore,  means  the  arrest 
of  progress,  the  blight  of  hope. 


288  REASONABLE  HOPES 

America  has  decreed  freedom  for  religion  in  the  sure  fore 
sight  of  the  advent  of  the  crank  and  the  freak.  These  abound 
inside  organized  religion  and  outside.  The  American  method 
of  treating  the  normal  and  the  abnormal  in  faith  follows  the 
teaching  of  Jesus  in  his  Parable  of  the  Wheat  and  the  Tares : 
"Let  both  grow  together  until  the  harvest."  Freedom  is 
costly,  but  it  is  worthwhile.  It  is  the  great  test  of  faith. 

Can  we  trust  truth  to  win  in  a  fair  fight  with  error?  The 
man  who  says  that  he  cannot  must  secretly  despise  the 
truth.  Such  a  man  might  well  take  a  lesson  from  the  tyrant 
Tiberius,  who  refused  to  punish  offenses  against  religion  on 
the  ground  that  the  gods  can  take  care  of  themselves.  Be 
sides,  religion  can  never  know  itself  as  real,  save  in  the  world 
of  freedom.  No  man  can  tell  whether  religion  is  an  oasis  in 
the  desert,  or  a  mirage,  who  is  not  free  to  test  it  by  every 
power  of  the  mind  and  spirit.  Further,  self-reliant,  respon 
sible  manhood  is  gained  only  through  the  solemnity  of 
choice;  as  in  Goethe's  song:  — 

But  heard  are  the  Voices,  — 

Heard  are  the  Sages, 

The  Worlds  and  the  Ages; 

Choose  well;  your  choice  is 

Brief  and  yet  endless.  * 

Once  more,  the  repression  of  the  crank  by  the  law  of  uni 
formity  means  the  excommunication  of  the  prophet.  The 
greatest  words  ever  uttered  in  behalf  of  freedom  in  relig 
ion  are  these:  "O  Jerusalem,  Jerusalem,  which  killest  the 
prophets  and  stonest  them  that  are  sent  unto  her!  how  often 
would  I  have  gathered  thy  children  together  even  as  a  hen 
gathereth  her  chickens  under  her  wings,  and  ye  would  not! 
Behold  your  house  is  left  unto  you  desolate." 

On  a  level  immeasurably  lower,  let  it  be  said  that,  since 
differences  abound  in  the  minds  of  men,  it  is  in  every  way 
safer  to  provide  them  with  freedom.  Wild  beasts  are  wild 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  289 

beasts  in  cages  no  less  than  in  jungles;  putting  them  under 
restraint  sometimes  tends  to  the  disguise  of  this  fact.  The 
utmost  freedom  serves  to  disclose  the  utmost  in  man;  under 
freedom  we  shall  know  man  better  and  learn  to  act  with 
knowledge.  One  may  put  the  skin  of  a  deer  over  the  body 
of  a  lion;  that  act  will  not  make  the  wearer  of  the  new  robe 
any  the  less  a  beast  of  prey.  Cover  all  religious  views  with 
the  same  ecclesiastical  skin,  if  you  can,  but  know  that  not 
in  this  way  are  doubt,  protest,  heterogeneousness,  distem 
per,  ruthless  passion  abolished.  We  thus  keep  while  we 
conceal  these  evils;  we  add  to  them  a  whole  brood  of  greater 
evils:  insincerity ;\ the  double  life,  and  sometimes  the  athe 
ism  that  feeds  on  the  sacramental  bread  and  wine. 

The  great  religion  is  the  product  of  the  great  race;  when 
brought  forth,  the  religion  returns  to  exalt  and  perpetuate 
the  race  from  whose  life  it  has  come.  Israel  has  given  to  the 
world  the  sovereign  religion,  because,  in  moral  sincerity  and 
depth,  in  the  vision  of  God  and  of  the  spiritual  world,  Israel 
has  been  the  sovereign  race.  If  the  religion  of  America  is  to 
be  great,  it  must  have  as  its  source  a  great  American  people. 
The  mean  races,  and  the  mean  individuals  among  great 
races,  degrade  religion.  Such  has  been  the  fate  of  Chris 
tianity  many  times  in  the  course  of  the  centuries;  the  de 
generate  person  reflects  his  degeneracy  in  his  religious  ideas. 

But,  Lord,  remember  me  and  mine 
Wi'  mercies  temporal  and  divine, 
That  I  for  grace  and  gear  may  shine 

Excell'd  by  nane; 
And  a'  the  glory  shall  be  thine  — 
Amen,  Amen. 

What  about  the  race  of  Americans?  It  is,  without  doubt, 
heterogeneous;  human  beings  are  here,  it  might  almost  be 
said,  from  every  nation  under  heaven.  Sometimes,  in  mo 
ments  of  bewildered  thought,  America  seems  a  Pentecostal 

20 


290  REASONABLE  HOPES 

nation,  minus  the  Holy  Ghost.  When  one  becomes  clearer 
and  looks  deeper  into  the  life  of  Americans,  one  sees  that 
minus  must  be  changed  to  plus. 

Business  stamina  and  athletic  prowess  show  conclusively 
that  Americans  are  physically  a  great  people.  The  evi 
dences  of  their  mental  alertness,  ingenuity,  inventiveness, 
resourcefulness,  and  mastery  multiply  on  every  hand. 
Nothing  else  is  to  be  expected  when  one  considers  that 
hither  have  come,  for  many  generations,  the  boldest,  the 
most  energetic,  and  in  many  ways  the  most  gifted  and  reso 
lute,  of  the  peoples  of  Europe.  The  physical  and  intellec 
tual  capacities  of  Americans  are  beyond  dispute. 

Can  the  same  thing  be  said  about  the  moral  qualities  and 
the  spiritual  aptitudes  of  our  people?  I  conceive  that  more 
can  be  said  to  their  advantage  on  this  third  and  highest 
level  of  life  than  on  either  of  the  other  two.  Immigration  is 
the  surest  key  to  the  soul  of  Americans.  We  are  a  nation  of 
immigrants;  some  have  come  earlier,  some  later;  but  the 
race  as  a  whole  is  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.   As  of  old 
there  came  a  voice  to  the  earliest  settlers  and  to  their  suc 
cessors:  "Get  thee  out  from  thy  country,  and  from  thy 
kindred  and  from  thy  father's  house."   Leave  was  taken 
with  hope,  and  also  with  deep,  inevitable  regret.  The  deep 
est  psychic  fact  in  our  people  is  a  structure  of  light  and 
shadow,  "built  of  tears  and  sacred  flames."  Few,  of  all  who 
come  to  remain  here,  ever  return  or  catch  so  much  as  a 
glimpse  of  the  land  of  their  birth,  which  lies  transfigured  in 
the  morning  memories  of  the  heart.   Recollection  deepens 
with  the  stream  of  the  years,  like  the  bed  of  the  river  under 
its  current.  The  volume  of  sentiment  increases;  our  people 
are  deep-hearted;  they  are  united  by  the  ties  of  the  soul 
both  to  the  old  world  and  to  the  new.  They  have  in  then! 
an  impulse  toward  cosmopolitanism;  there  is  among  us  a 
vast  unspoken  humanity  of  high  prophetic  moment.  Some 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  291 

day  the  voice  of  genius  will  unseal  the  depths,  and  we  shall 
see  what  the  discipline  of  sorrow  and  hope,  the  warp  and 
woof  of  immigration,  has  wrought  for  this  new  race. 

Here  we  meet  a  confident,  and  sometimes  an  insolent, 
objection.  Is  not  immigration  mainly  for  economic  pur 
poses?  Are  not  the  Pilgrims  absolutely  without  successors 
in  the  motive  of  their  settlement  here?  Should  we  not  ex 
cite  against  ourselves  the  mirth  of  the  world,  were  we  to 
claim  that  any  mortal  now  seeks  these  shores  solely  or 
chiefly  that  he  may  have  freedom  to  worship  God?  We 
should,  indeed;  yet  that  admission  is  only  the  introduction 
to  the  epic  of  the  immigrant's  life.  Few  gain  the  economic 
Paradise  they  came  hither  to  find;  their  hopes  prove  to  be 
more  than  half  hallucinations.  What  the  overwhelming  ma 
jority  of  immigrants  discover  is  that  harder  work  awaits 
them  here  than  in  the  old  home,  a  swifter  movement  of 
activity;  severer  conditions  of  toil;  more  pay,  but  not  pay 
enough  to  take  them  from  the  race-course;  more  pay,  but 
less  play,  less  peace;  an  existence  heightened  in  intensity 
and  therefore  more  exhausting;  success  gained  through  an 
abnormal  devotion  to  material  ends  —  a  success  that  seems 
poor  in  the  light  of  the  early  economic  ideal  now  seen  to  be 
impossible. 

We  hear  much  of  the  few  great  economic  successes  among 
our  immigrants;  we  hear  little  of  something  infinitely  deeper 
and  more  important  for  the  life  of  Americans,  the  eco 
nomic  disillusionment.  In  the  experience  of  millions  the 
economic  ideal  is  seen  to  be  hopeless;  by  itself,  as  a  satis 
faction  for  the  rational  soul,  it  is  at  length  seen  to  be  unut 
terably  base.  Then  comes  the  great  epoch  and  its  great 
event,  the  recoil  of  the  disillusioned  humanity  upon  itself. 
This  does  not  mean  that  all  who  pass  through  the  experi 
ence  described  turn  up  in  the  weekly  prayer-meeting,  that 
they  go  to  church,  adopt  a  particular  creed,  or  embrace  any 


292  REASONABLE  HOPES 

form  of  conventional  religion;  it  means  the  growing  sense  of 
humanity  as  the  great  superlative,  the  vision  of  something 
other,  and  immeasurably  better,  than  economic  triumph 
and  obedience,  often  enough  halting  and  broken,  but  in 
heart  essentially  true  to  this  heavenly  vision.  America  has 
been  cruelly  misrepresented  to  the  immigrant;  it  has  been 
made  to  appeal  to  the  mere  economic  animal  in  his  com 
posite  existence;  experience  brings  reversal  of  hope  and  the 
vision  of  the  true  America,  the  place  where,  as  of  old,  men 
earn  their  bread  in  the  sweat  of  their  brow,  where  the 
ground  is  cursed  for  their  sake. 

Great  is  the  life  that  often  follows  this  early  disenchant 
ment.  The  sun  is  down,  the  dust  is  now  laid  that  the  wild 
winds  have  blown  through  all  the  hot,  noisy  hours  of  the 
day,  and  against  the  background  of  infinite  night  the  stars 
appear,  symbols  of  the  high  and  countless  splendors  that 
exist  in  this  amazing  universe  for  the  men  who  have  re 
covered  their  humanity.  Standing  upon  this  ground  of  the 
essential  moral  greatness  of  our  people,  some  of  the  nobler 
hopes  of  American  religion  come  into  view. 

Keeping  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  it  may  be  said  that 
religion  in  America  is  setting  toward  its  great  objects  with 
a  deeper  and  stronger  tide.  As  the  external  supports  of  re 
ligion  have  become  the  subjects  of  serious  question,  religion 
has  become  clearer  and  surer  of  itself;  it  has  made  some 
progress  in  disengaging  essential  from  incidental,  and  is 
likely  to  make  greater  progress  along  this  line  in  the  im 
mediate  future.  Once  the  Bible  was  the  book  whose  words 
settled  all  religious  debates.  While  for  the  seer  the  Bible 
has  become  a  greater  book  in  passing  through  the  fires  of 
modern  criticism,  its  words  are  no  longer  substitutes  for  in 
sight,  but  inspirations  and  guides  toward  the  larger  vision. 
The  letter  fails  in  the  greatest  of  books;  because  of  the  lit- 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  293 

eral  failure,  the  spiritual  opportunity  and  appeal  have  be 
come  more  evident;  spirit  has  been  incited  to  find  spirit 
with  increased  sureness  and  depth.  To  be  found  of  the  In 
finite  Spirit  one  must  more  and  more  enter  the  realm  of 
spirit,  and  American  religion  may  be  said  to  be  making  that 
entrance. 

The  Christian  church,  of  whatever  name,  no  longer  ap 
peals  to  religious  Americans  as  a  distinctively  divine  insti 
tution.  It  is,  indeed,  a  divine  institution,  in  the  sense  in 
which  all  essential  human  institutions  are  divine.  The  fam 
ily,  the  state,  the  school,  the  university,  and  the  organized 
trade  of  the  nation,  are  divine  institutions;  that  is,  they  are 
essential  expressions  of  the  life  of  our  people.  The  forms  of 
these  institutions  may  change;  the  institutions  themselves 
are  permanent  necessities  of  man's  life  in  this  world.  They 
have  been  wrought  out  by  human  beings,  seeking,  under 
the  guidance  of  the  Eternal  Spirit,  the  juster  and  mightier 
organization  of  existence.  The  church  and  other  essential 
human  institutions  rest,  therefore,  on  the  same  foundations. 
These  institutions  are  like  the  different  peaks  in  some  great 
mountain  range :  higher  and  lower  they  are,  more  and  less 
massive;  one,  it  may  be,  towers  far  above  all  the  others  and 
fills  a  vaster  area;  but  one  and  all  rest  upon  the  same  earth, 
one  and  all  rise  into  the  same  heaven.  A  church  organized 
out  of  heaven  and  set  apart  from  and  above  all  other  insti 
tutions  is  a  fiction  that  has  vanished  from  the  free  mind  of 
America.  It  exists  in  certain  places,  doubtless,  with  other 
survivals  of  an  outgrown  time;  but  among  wise  men  it  exists 
as  a  myth,  and  is  so  regarded.  The  Founder  of  Christianity 
was  less  of  a  churchman  than  any  other  religious  teacher  in 
the  annals  of  history.  He  used  synagogue,  temple,  human 
homes,  mountain-tops,  desert  places,  the  fields,  and  the  sea, 
as  the  scenes  of  his  prophetic  activity  and  worship.  It 
would  not  be  too  much  to  say  that  his  church  was  the 


294  REASONABLE  HOPES 

cosmos,  the  lights  thereof,  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars;  the  pic 
tures  on  its  walls,  the  fires  of  morning  and  evening  and  the 
shadows  of  noon;  its  altar,  the  heart  of  man;  its  music,  the 
whispering  winds;  its  organ,  the  universe  supporting  his 
prophetic  voice. 

From  this,  the  most  unecclesiastical  of  teachers,  arose, 
justified  by  the  necessities  of  the  life  of  his  disciples,  fallen 
upon  different  times  in  different  lands,  successive  forms  of 
church-organization.  These  were  integrated  finally  in  the 
church  of  the  East  and  the  great  church  of  the  West.  Dis 
integration  at  length  set  in;  what  was  built  by  man  in  obedi 
ence  to  the  impulse  of  life  was  taken  down  in  reverence  for 
the  same  impulse.  The  issue  is  the  sense  of  the  absolute 
primacy  of  the  life  of  the  soul;  the  hope  is  that  this  builder 
and  destroyer  of  institutional  forms  will  become  surer  of 
itself,  and  continue  to  renew  itself  from  the  aboriginal 
Foundation  of  life. 

The  Christian  ministry  has  become  one  vocation  among 
many,  equally  sacred  with  other  essential  vocations,  and  no 
more.  The  gain  here  is  inexpressibly  great;  all  mere  offi 
cialism  is  impotent  and  vain;  the  man  is  a  prophet  or  priest 
in  virtue  of  his  humanity  exalted  by  the  presence  of  the  liv 
ing  God,  or  he  is  a  chimera.  No  titles,  no  rank,  no  official 
consecrations  can  serve  as  substitutes  for  a  gifted,  disci 
plined,  exalted  human  character;  they  may  remain  con 
venient  signs  of  it;  they  do  not  impart  the  grace  of  the  spirit; 
at  best,  they  only  call  attention  to  that  grace;  they  do  not 
create  the  prophet  or  priest;  they  do  their  utmost  when  they 
serve  him.  This  means  the  exaltation  of  all  essential  human 
callings;  it  does  not  mean  the  degradation  of  the  one  sacred 
calling.  The  command  has  gone  forth  to  all  vocations,  Come 
up  higher.  Again  the  outward  fails  us;  the  boat  sinks,  and 
we  trust  ourselves  to  the  deeps  of  the  Eternal  Spirit. 

For  more  than  a  thousand  years  a  definite  system  of 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  295 

thought  ruled  the  minds  of  religious  men  throughout 
Christendom.  Protestant  and  Catholic  confessed  substan 
tially  the  same  theology;  Europe  and  America  stood  here 
upon  essentially  the  same  ground.  It  was  universally  held 
that  the  truth  about  man's  world  was  reflected  in  this  sys 
tem  of  belief.  At  length  disintegration  began  here;  great 
abiding  ideas  were  dug  out  of  the  debris  and  carefully  con 
served;  the  traditional  creed  as  a  whole,  however,  became 
incredible;  the  eyes  through  which  men  for  fifteen  centuries 
had  read  the  meaning  of  the  universe  became  dim.  The 
relief  from  this  disintegration  to  the  vexed  religious  soul 
has  been  like  escape  from  Hades;  the  world  of  God  now 
bids  man  welcome  from  the  prison  that  he  had  built  for 
himself.  According  to  their  differing  temperaments,  fear 
or  audacity  at  first  filled  the  minds  of  many  persons  in  the 
presence  of  this  stupendous  event;  bewilderment  has  en 
compassed  a  multitude  of  fine  souls  like  a  thick  cloud;  there 
has  been  much  uncertainty  and  searching  of  heart;  what 
seemed  the  foundations  of  the  world  have  given  way.  What 
can  the  religious  soul  do  in  this  extremity?  Betake  itself 
to  God,  with  all  its  heart  singing  its  great  song,  — 

Our  little  systems  have  their  day; 
They  have  their  day  and  cease  to  be: 
They  are  but  broken  lights  of  thee, 
And  thou,  O  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

So  it  has  been  in  ten  thousand  instances;  our  reasonable 
hope  is  that  more  and  more  it  shall  be  thus.  The  call  has 
gone  forth  for  a  profounder  retreat  upon  the  aboriginal 
Soul  of  the  universe.  From  this  great  experience  insight  will 
return,  insight  into  the  innermost  heart  of  religion  and  con 
fidence  in  its  findings.  This  is  the  issue  for  the  religious 
spirit  as  against  the  man  to  whom  life  itself  carries  no  gos 
pel  and  whose  home  is  in  ruins  amid  floods  and  tempests. 
The  scientific  intellect  is  at  its  task,  dissolving  all  on  its 


296  REASONABLE  HOPES 

way  to  the  everlasting.  To  the  dweller  in  the  region  of  the 
traditional  this  is  appalling;  to  the  soul  whose  one  supreme 
passion  is  to  see  God,  here  is  another  vast  inspiration.  Such 
a  soul  longs  for  the  things  that  cannot  be  dissolved,  to  hear 
in  the  roar  of  this  world  of  fateful  change  the  song  of  the 
Time-Spirit,  — 

At  the  whirring  loom  of  time,  unawed, 
I  weave  the  living  mantle  of  God. 

Such  in  few  words  are  some  of  the  graver  conditions  of 
religion  to-day.  Under  these  conditions  religion  would  seem 
bound  to  do  one  of  these  three  things:  to  curse  God  and 
die,  the  blasphemy  of  thought  found  on  a  tragic  scale  in 
side  Christian  churches  and  beyond  them;  to  hug  the  old 
traditions  in  the  new  environment,  hoping  by  desperate 
loyalty  to  secure  them  against  the  fierce  critical  heat  that 
encompasses  them  —  a  faith  as  vain  as  would  be  the  ex 
pectation  of  an  iceberg  to  remain  intact  afloat  on  the 
South  Atlantic;  the  .cry  of  the  mysterious  Presence  that 
wrestled  with  the  first  Israelite:  "Let  me  go,  for  the  day 
breaketh." 

We  are  in  the  dawn  of  a  new  epoch.  It  would  seem  that 
religious  men  are  to  be  deterred  by  the  decree  of  the  living 
God  from  continuing  the  practice  of  jumbling  together  in 
one  indistinguishable  mass  the  precious  and  the  worthless 
in  human  experience,  the  rational  and  the  mythical,  the  self- 
attesting  and  the  impossible,  the  self-sufficing  reality  and 
the  superstitions  that  always  dim  the  radiant  soul  of  re 
ligion  and  try  to  replace  its  pure  splendor  with  their  wild 
fantastic  shows.  The  mood  of  the  time  sounds  a  more  pro 
found  retreat  upon  God;  it  spreads  its  table  in  his  presence; 
it  seeks  for  that  table  the  living  bread,  the  sustenance  with 
out  which  man  cannot  remain  man.  Temporal  helps  have 
been  taken  away,  that  the  Eternal  helper  may  be  found; 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  297 

religion  has  been  compelled,  like  a  ship  caught  in  a  tempest 
in  shallow  water,  to  put  out  to  sea.  Our  ship  is  good,  but 
there  is  safety  for  her  and  her  precious  burden  only  on  the 
deeps. 

American  religion  is  seeking,  and  it  is  likely  to  seek  more 
and  more,  a  justification  of  its  being  out  of  the  universe 
now.  Emerson's  essay,  once  curiously  referred  to  in  an  issue 
of  the  "Atlantic"  as  "mournful,"  sounds  the  note  of  a  vast 
hope.  "The  foregoing  generations  beheld  God  and  nature 
face  to  face;  we  through  their  eyes.  Why  should  we  not  also 
enjoy  an  original  relation  to  the  universe?  "  In  these  words 
Emerson  is  the  prophet  of  all  deep  religion,  of  the  Christian 
religion  in  its  inmost  spirit.  Protestant  and  Catholic  are 
here  one.  Communion  of  saints,  fellowship  with  the  spirits 
of  just  men  made  perfect,  access  to  the  soul  of  Jesus,  ad 
mission  to  the  immediate  presence  of  God,  are  recognized 
by  all  enlightened  Christians  to  be  at  the  heart  of  the 
soul's  life.  This  immediate  contact  with  the  Divine  reality 
is  primal;  books,  churches,  prophets,  priests,  creeds,  are  sec 
ondary.  We  press  toward  the  light  ineffable;  we  are  now 
led,  and  again  driven,  toward  this  supernal  centre  by  the 
majesty  of  the  past,  by  the  mystery  of  the  future,  and  by 
the  present  necessities  of  the  soul.  We  seek  with  all  reli 
gious  human  beings  the  immediate  vision  of  the  living  God. 
The  apocalypse  for  this  day  we  crave  as  our  daily  bread. 
We  discover  that  the  greatest  words  of  the  past  become 
living  only  in  the  experience  of  the  present  hour;  outside  of 
that  experience,  they  are  dead. 

If  the  religious  man's  soul,  the  souls  of  his  fellow  men, 
and  the  Soul  of  the  universe  are  hidden,  as  may  be  the  case, 
he  may  borrow  light  from  all  religions  to  help  him  in  his 
search.  The  point  is,  that  no  religion  can  create  the  objects 
of  religion;  the  chief  religion  comes,  not  to  create,  but  to 
reveal.  At  last  the  universe  itself  must  justify  or  discredit 


298  REASONABLE  HOPES 

our  life  in  the  spirit.  Believers  claim  that  it  must  be  possi 
ble  to-day,  as  in  other  days,  to  be  profoundly  religious  and 
to  justify  from  experience  this  attitude  of  face-to-face  con 
verse  with  the  Eternal. 

Here,  indeed,  we  touch  the  inmost  soul  of  the  Christian 
faith,  that  which  it  utters  in  its  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
Christians  were  never  meant  to  rely  solely  upon  the  epic 
history  of  the  Master,  to  go  back  two  thousand  or  ten  thou 
sand  years,  in  order  to  find  the  warrant  for  their  faith. 
There  is  the  present  Guide  unto  all  truth;  there  is  the  uni 
verse  to-day  under  the  illumination  of  the  Spirit.  The 
record  of  the  Master's  career  is  inexpressibly  precious;  it  is 
enriching,  regulative,  corrective,  prophetic,  dynamic;  it  is 
the  sovereign,  historic  form  of  the  Infinite  compassion; yet 
its  deepest  promise  is  of  the  presence  that  pervades  and 
illumines  the  contemporary  world  of  men:  "Lo,  I  am  with 
you  always,  even  to  the  end  of  the  world."  The  ultimate 
realities  of  the  Christian  religion  are  souls:  the  souls  of  men 
and  the  soul  of  God;  the  New  Testament  has  its  highest 
use  as  a  guide  to  these  ultimate  realities.  By  the  wonder  of 
the  Spirit  Jesus  becomes  the  contemporary  of  his  latest 
disciples. 

The  great  insight  at  work  to-day  in  all  truly  religious 
persons,  that  the  Infinite  Soul  is  with  us,  lends  new  signifi 
cance  to  many  forms  of  faith  that  must  appear  to  thought 
ful  men  crude.  New  Thought,  Theosophy,  Spiritualism, 
Eddyism,  the  Healing  Cult,  and  all  kindred  movements, 
which  seem  trivial  in  the  presence  of  the  greater  historic 
churches  of  Christendom,  which  are,  as  it  were,  mushroom 
growths  compared  with  the  religions  of  immemorial  in 
fluence,  which  often  appear  mere  amusing  products  of 
American  extemporaneousness,  become  of  serious  import 
ance  when  viewed  either  as  man's  face-to-face  converse 
with  the  universe,  or  as  presenting  to  the  Infinite  in  the 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  299 

unending  process  of  apocalypse  the  open  mind.  The  world 
of  science  would  stagnate,  the  growth  of  art  would  come  to 
an  end,  the  hope  of  political  and  social  betterment  would 
die,  if  the  elect  youth  in  each  new  generation  should  be 
content  with  the  insights  and  achievements  of  the  past. 
The  crudeness  and  the  eccentricity  of  youth  do  not  blind 
us  to  its  noble  dissatisfactions  with  the  great  past  out  of 
which  the  greater  future  is  to  come.  In  the  same  way,  we 
should  regard  even  the  crude,  the  eccentric,  the  wildly  ex 
travagant  in  contemporary  religion.  It  is  at  all  events  the 
sign  that  men  are  living  in  the  presence  of  the  Infinite;  that 
their  minds  are  in  the  mood  of  invocation;  that  they  be 
lieve  God  to  be  greater  than  man's  best  experience;  and 
that  they  look  for  his  mightier  manifestation. 

From  this  new  and  eager  contact  with  the  Divine  uni 
verse,  from  this  contemporary  agitation  over  life's  sovereign 
problems,  from  this  original,  immediate  fellowship  with 
the  Eternal,  it  would  be  strange  if  there  did  not  eventuate 
vaster  religious  insight,  a  more  steadfast  religious  character. 
In  the  case  of  New  England  transcendentalism,  which  con 
tinues  to  minister  to  the  sense  of  humor  of  many  genial 
souls  of  alien  discipline,  these  four  lines  from  Emerson  annul 
the  extravagance  of  the  movement  and  indicate  its  deep 
prophetic  note:  — 

Speaks  not  of  self  that  mystic  tone 
But  of  the  Overgods  alone; 
It  trembles  to  the  cosmic  breath  — 
As  it  heareth,  so  it  saith. 

All  religion  that  is  of  substantial  worth  is  man's  response 
to  the  whispers  of  the  Eternal  in  his  heart.  The  speaking 
universe  and  the  listening  human  soul  are  the  great  major 
premise  of  valid  religion.  The  contemporary  soul,  pure 
through  desperate  need  and  lofty  longing,  responsive  to 
the  voice  of  God  that  wanders  through  the  world  to-day 


300  REASONABLE  HOPES 

seeking  the  willing  ear,  whatever  its  immaturities  and 
eccentricities  may  be,  is  a  fountain  of  life  in  the  nation's 
religion. 

The  unique  Exemplar  and  Prophet  of  American  religion, 
in  all  its  manifold  varieties,  is  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  His  king 
dom  of  man  stands  deeper  in  American  insight  and  sym 
pathy  than  the  programme  of  all  other  religious  teachers 
and  cults.  His  teaching  and  example  have  set  aside  Calvin 
and  Edwards;  He  and  no  other  has  his  hand  upon  the 
springs  of  religious  desire;  He,  and  not  the  crank  or  freak  in 
our  caravan,  is  the  inspirer  of  all  that  is  worthiest  in  our 
experience  and  surest  in  our  hopes.  We  find  that  Jesus  is 
often  acknowledged  by  the  anarchist  crazed  by  the  woe  of 
the  nations;  He  is  not  seldom  close  to  the  heart  of  the  So 
cialist  in  his  madness  over  the  contempt  of  the  strong  for 
the  weak;  He  is  recognized  as  the  supreme  friend  of  man 
by  many  among  those  who  see  in  his  disciples,  as  organized 
in  churches,  a  solidarity  of  selfishness  hallowed  under  the 
shadow  of  his  glorious  name;  He  is  the  pillar  of  fire  by  night 
to  many  a  servant  of  social  betterment  to  whom  the  uni 
verse  is  an  impenetrable  mystery;  believers  in  the  human 
ity  of  man  have  seen  the  incomparable  greatness  of  Jesus. 
Inside  all  communions  with  present  power  and  the  hope 
of  to-morrow  beating  in  their  heart,  the  image  of  the 
Prophet  of  Nazareth  is  sovereign.  Hospitable  to  all  promis 
ing  voices,  ready  to  entertain  strangers  in  the  hope  that 
they  prove  angels  in  disguise,  sadly  disillusioned  as  it  is 
about  many  of  its  guests,  American  religion  persists  in  the 
open  mind,  the  catholic  heart,  in  the  presence  of  the  Infi 
nite  possibility  of  to-day;  at  the  same  time,  the  name  that 
was  to  St.  Paul  above  every  name  is  still  our  sheet-anchor 
in  the  storm.  Otherwise  to  read  the  signs  of  the  times  in  the 
religious  life  of  America  is  to  miss  the  chief  sign. 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  SOI 

American  religion,  while  sympathetic  toward  the  whole 
higher  intellectual  achievement  of  mankind,  is  likely  to  be 
less  disposed  to  ask  alien  philosophies  to  account  for  it  or 
to  accredit  it  to  the  world.  This  is  the  issue  of  the  discipline 
in  historical  analysis  that  a  generation  of  great  scholars 
have  imposed  upon  themselves.  Everything  that  has  be 
come  mixed  with  Christianity  in  the  course  of  the  centuries 
is  not  therefore  an  essential  part  of  its  character;  additions 
to  Christianity  made  since  the  close  of  the  apostolic  age  are 
not  necessarily  alien  in  spirit.  Historical  analysis  exhibits 
the  original  force  and  body  of  ideas  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ; 
it  discriminates  between  what  is  original  and  what  is  a  later 
addition.  It  leaves  the  free  mind  of  the  world  to  decide  the 
further  question,  How  far  is  the  historic  accretion  compati 
ble  with  the  original  genius  of  Christianity?  Historical 
analysis  has  made  good  the  distinction  between  the  orig 
inal  and  the  derived,  the  kindred  and  the  alien,  the  devel 
opment  from  within  and  the  addition  from  without,  the 
product  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  the  product  of  the  Time 
Spirit.  This  distinction  has  been  adopted  by  the  free  mind 
of  religious  America;  the  adoption  of  this  distinction  marks 
an  epoch  in  the  higher  religious  mind  of  the  nation. 

Christianity,  the  highest  form  of  American  religion  and 
incomparably  the  widest  and  deepest  in  influence,  has  been 
obliged,  as  everyone  knows,  to  run  itself  into  the  forms  of 
philosophies  more  or  less  alien  to  itself,  in  order  to  shape 
the  minds  of  men  in  certain  ages  of  the  world.  Christianity 
has  at  times  spoken  with  the  great  voice  of  Plato;  it  has 
filled  with  its  transfiguring  grace  the  vast  impressive  fog  of 
Neo-Platonism;  it  has  taken  as  an  ally  the  mighty  intellect 
of  Aristotle;  it  has  identified  its  belief  with  the  opinions 
of  men  like  Origen  and  Athanasius,  Augustine  and  Aquinas, 
who  were  themselves  in  some  degree  products  of  many 


302  REASONABLE  HOPES 

alien  contemporary  influences.  Christianity  has  become 
Calvinistic,  Arminian,  Hegelian,  Evolutionary,  Pragmatic. 
As  adaptations  of  the  genius  of  Christianity  to  the  mind  of 
particular  times,  these  forms  of  faith  may  be  highly  useful; 
they  may  indeed  be  a  temporary  necessity.  Christianity 
must  know  the  dialect  and  idiom  of  the  successive  ages, 
and  speak  in  them,  if  it  is  to  be  widely  understood.  The 
wonder  of  Pentecost,  at  which  were  gathered  the  devout 
from  every  nation  under  heaven,  each  group  hearing  in  its 
own  tongue  the  mighty  works  of  God,  has  been  in  a  true 
and  great  way  the  one  continuous  wonder  in  the  onward 
movement  of  Christianity. 

Still,  it  must  be  said  that  Christianity  does  not  espouse 
the  cause  of  the  absolute  truth  of  these  contemporary  serv 
ants.  They  are  not  bone  of  its  bone  or  flesh  of  its  flesh. 
Nothing  is  essential  to  Christianity  as  metaphysic,  but 
the  reality  of  the  souls  of  men  and  the  soul  of  God;  nothing 
is  permanently  vital  to  the  Gospel,  but  the  fellowship  of 
these  souls  in  an  ever-deepening  moral  experience  and  the 
resulting  exaltation  of  our  human  world.  Jesus  is  the  per 
manent  centre  of  his  religion,  as  mediating  between  human 
souls  and  the  Eternal  soul;  he  is  essential  as  the  Supreme 
prophet  of  a  universe  in  which  soul  is  the  ultimate  reality. 

This  deeper  sense  of  its  distinctive  being  and  purpose  on 
the  part  of  Christianity  explains  much  in  the  Christian 
mind  to-day.  The  mood  of  American  religion  is  that  it  is 
unwise  to  identify  its  truth  with  the  fortunes  of  even  the 
most  important  contemporary  movements  in  the  world  of 
thought;  it  is  less  unwise,  but  still  questionable,  to  make 
too  close  a  covenant  between  the  Gospel  of  Jesus,  with  its 
austerely  simple  metaphysic  and  its  sublime  ethic,  and  the 
vast  enduring  systems  of  thought.  Greek  philosophy  is 
great;  on  its  human  side  it  is  in  essence  lasting  as  the  mind 
of  man.  Yet  it  is  often  immature,  wanting  in  width  of  sym 
pathy;  it  is  the  product  of  a  small,  although  a  profoundly 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  303 

significant,  world.  Religion  is  always  the  product  of  a  vast 
world;  it  is  at  its  highest  always  in  the  sense  of  the  Eternal, 
and  the  Eternal  is  in  the  soul  of  the  religious  man  and  com 
munity  as  creative  spirit.  This  being  its  genius,  religion 
must  give  an  independent  account  of  itself.  As  experience, 
it  transcends  in  depth  and  character  all  other  experiences; 
as  empirical  reality,  its  momentousness  is  self-evident; 
as  reality,  it  must  speak  for  itself,  it  must  construe  its  own 
universe,  it  must  be  its  own  ultimate  prophet. 

We  come  now  to  the  highest  aspect  and  hope  of  American 
religion.  Vision  is  indispensable  to  religion,  but  vision  is 
not  the  chief  element;  sentiment  is  essential,  yet  sentiment 
is  not  the  main  thing.  The  soul  of  American  religion  is 
action,  issuing  from  creative  will.  Our  religion  adopts 
Fichte's  great  insight,  that  the  vocation  of  man  is  to  be 
come  a  doer  of  the  will  of  the  Highest;  it  cries  out  with 
Emerson,  — 

Unless  to  Thought  is  added  Will 
Apollo  is  an  imbecile; 

it  accepts  with  reverence  and  confidence  the  assurance  of 
Jesus:  "If  any  man  willeth  to  do  his  will  he  shall  know  of 
the  teaching."  Knowledge  and  being  by  the  path  of  rational 
action  is  our  firmest  possession.  American  religion  is  often 
unconventional  in  its  expressions;  it  can  at  times  be  profane 
in  its  dialect;  it  cannot  acquiesce  in  hopeless  impotence. 
To  the  pious  cant  of  the  fatalist  on  whose  soul  the  wrongs 
of  suffering  men  sit  lightly,  "  Well,  God  mend  all,"  it  an 
swers,  in  the  style  of  a  man  with  red  blood  in  his  veins, 
"Nay,  by  God,  we  must  help  him  to  mend  it."  The  fighter 
for  righteousness  believes  that  the  stars  in  their  courses  are 
on  his  side;  he  does  his  duty,  in  the  sense  that  the  universe 
is  the  backer  of  the  conscientious  servant  of  man.  His  faith 
comes  up  out  of  his  experience  as  a  creative  force.  He  is  con 
fident  that,  in  the  long  run,  humanity  cannot  be  defeated 


304  REASONABLE  HOPES 

by  inhumanity;  in  the  vivid  idiom  of  the  street,  the  final 
triumph  of  evil  over  good  is  as  likely  as  the  success  of  a 
celluloid  dog  chasing  an  asbestos  cat  through  hell.  Aggres 
sive,  confident,  militant  action  is  the  great  watchword  of 
American  faith. 

The  actual  world  is  apt  to  be  the  despair  of  the  religions 
of  the  nations.  The  theism  of  Mohammedanism  is  great, 
and  by  no  manner  of  means  is  it  ineffective.  It  exalts  the 
lives  of  millions;  it  prohibits  the  use  of  alcohol,  and  it  res 
cues  society  from  the  retinue  of  miseries  that  follow  the  use 
of  that  poison.  It  does  indeed  sanction  polygamy,  but  it 
exorcises  the  horror  of  prostitution.  It  secures  among  cer 
tain  races  a  creditable  measure  of  honesty,  a  large  degree  of 
kindness  and  loyalty.  Mohammedanism  has  great  merits, 
and  yet  it  is  powerless  in  the  presence  of  the  deeper  evils  of 
the  world.  The  status  of  woman  as  inferior  to  man  it  has  es 
tablished  and  maintained,  and  this  is  the  fountain  of  the 
gravest  disorders.  It  has  been  unable  to  sober  the  fanatic, 
to  elevate  into  sovereign  influence  the  sentiment  of  human 
ity.  Above  all,  it  is  impotent  in  the  presence  of  autocratic 
and  corrupt  governments;  it  is  without  hope  before  the  dis 
tresses  that  arise  from  disease  and  uncleanness;  it  has  no 
inspiration  for  science  and  no  appreciation  of  the  mercies  of 
applied  science;  it  stands  dumb  as  it  looks  upon  the  eco 
nomic  misery  of  its  devotees;  it  calls  for  submission  to  pres 
ent  evils  as  to  the  foreordained  lot  of  human  beings;  it  is  ex 
hilarated  by  no  outlook  toward  a  new  heaven  and  a  new 
earth  wherein  dwelleth  righteousness;  it  is  in  despair  as  it 
surveys  the  actual  world  of  men. 

The  same  is  true  of  Buddhism.  The  core  of  that  mighty 
faith  is  as  noble  as  anything  in  the  possession  of  mankind; 
yet  it  is  essentially  the  religion  of  despair.  Resignation  is 
its  highest  word;  the  path  to  extinction  of  being  by  the  way 
of  holiness  is  its  supreme  beatitude.  The  actual  condition 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  305 

of  man's  world  in  time  is  beyond  remedy  except  by  spiritual 
suicide.  The  universe  has  no  light  or  help  for  those  who 
cherish  the  will  to  live.  Our  human  world,  with  all  its  rela 
tions,  interests,  experiences,  aspirations,  and  ideal  dreams 
is  a  mistake.  Nothing  can  cure  this  mistake  but  the  will  to 
die,  in  the  sense  of  absolute  extinction.  This  religion  is  the 
refuge  for  human  beings  in  defeat,  for  the  victims  of  de 
spair,  and  for  them  alone. 

Much  of  European  Christianity  is  in  a  similar  state  of 
mind.  It  has  no  word  upon  the  economic  distress  of  the 
multitude;  it  does  not  lift  its  voice  against  government  as 
it  grounds  itself  upon  brute  force;  it  has  no  vision  of  reme 
dial  energy  equal  to  its  vision  of  sin;  it  has  no  social  gospel 
for  this  world;  it  confines  its  work  to  the  alleviation  of  evils 
that  it  cannot  hope  to  cure,  to  the  discipline  of  men  in  limi 
tation  and  sorrow  toward  blessedness  in  another  state  of 
existence;  it  has  no  consciousness  of  a  creative  Christianity; 
it  throws  no  defiance  in  the  face  of  the  total  evils  that 
afflict  the  world;  it  entertains  no  vision  of  the  victory  of 
humanity  over  inhumanity  in  the  course  of  time. 

This  social  faith  is  the  chief  note  in  American  religion. 
It  lives  among  evils  as  rank  and  offensive  as  exist  in  any 
nation  on  the  globe;  it  will  acknowledge  none  of  them  as 
inevitable  and  final.  It  has  crudities  enough  of  its  own;  it 
can  match  at  all  points  the  weaknesses  of  other  religions 
with  infirmities  of  its  own,  with  this  vast  exception  —  it  is 
determined  to  absorb  the  best  in  the  vision,  passion,  and 
character  of  the  past  and  to  wield  this  totality  of  ideal  power 
through  believing  souls  upon  the  present  condition  of  the 
nation.  AlTour  efforts  at  the  betterment  of  the  people  come 
from  essentially  religious  motives.  Education,  prison  reform, 
sanitation,  the  treatment  of  disease,  the  programme  against 
intemperance  and  vice,  the  movements  against  industrial 
iniquity,  social  distress,  the  inhumanity  of  man  to  man, 
21 


306  REASONABLE  HOPES 

come  from  the  great  basic  faith  that  there  exists  no  incura 
ble  evil,  that  the  Soul  of  the  universe  is  on  our  side  while  we 
strive  for  the  complete  reflection  in  our  existence  of  the 
humanity  of  Jesus. 

We  Americans  confess  at  once  that  in  many  respects  we 
are  a  crude  race,  that  we  are  a  people  in  the  making.  We 
gratefully  acknowledge  the  resources  put  at  our  disposal  by 
the  older  nations;  we  welcome  the  help  of  the  art,  the  wis 
dom,  and  the  character  of  ancient  races;  we  concede  their 
superiority  at  many  points;  we  are  eager  to  learn  from  them 
where  they  seem  to  be  wiser  than  we.  We  must,  however, 
add  to  this  appreciation  a  criticism  that  we  think  inevitable. 
We  find  in  much  of  the  Christianity  of  the  older  nations  a 
want  of  energy  and  hope  that  we  refuse  to  make  our  own,  a 
timidity  in  the  presence  of  immemorial  wrongs  that  we  con 
sider  cowardly,  a  spirit  of  acquiescence  with  inhuman  con 
ditions  of  existence  that  we  regard  as  equal  to  the  denial  of 
Christianity,  a  blindness  to  the  physical  and  moral  remedies 
in  the  order  of  humanity  that  is  astounding,  an  infatuation 
with  formal  religion,  a  contentment  with  the  pieties  of  a 
purely  personal  faith,  and  a  resignation  before  the  woe  of 
the  world  that  we  must  define  as  symptoms  of  practical 
atheism.  Above  all,  we  miss  in  much  of  the  Christianity  of 
the  old  world  the  consciousness  of  the  Creative  Spirit,  the 
Spirit  that  proclaims:  "Behold,  I  make  all  things  new"; 
that  goes  against  the  total  evil  that  afflicts  mankind  in  a 
campaign  that  will  end  only  when  evil  is  done  to  death. 

This  is  the  American  religious  war;  it  includes  in  its 
grand  army  many  dissimilar  divisions,  corps,  battalions,  and 
companies;  it  is  not  the  assemblage  of  American  churches 
merely;  it  is  also,  and  in  a  great  sense,  the  muster  of  the 
moral  forces  of  American  humanity;  it  is  a  war  against  evil 
to  the  knife  and  the  knife  to  the  hilt.  Out  beyond  organ 
ized  religion  in  America  is  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  dream : 


OF  AMERICAN  RELIGION  807 

the  dream  is  of  the  Republic  of  God  in  the  Republic  of  man; 
this  dream  lives  and  works  in  the  souls  of  our  greatest 
prophets.  The  shadow  is  the  projection  of  this  dream;  that 
shadow  claims  for  the  complete  life  of  our  people  the  whole 
circle  of  essential  human  interests  upon  which  it  rests. 

We  hear,  as  we  expected,  the  unbelieving  response: 
"This  is  American  optimism."  To  be  sure  it  is.  America, 
with  all  her  sins,  believes  in  God,  and  in  the  ultimate  omni 
potence  of  duty  read  in  the  light  of  God's  eyes.  "  This  is  the 
faith  of  a  young  nation,"  is  another  exclamation  from  our 
aged  and  somewhat  infirm  neighbors.  True  again;  and  this 
faith  of  a  young  nation  repeats  itself  in  the  successive  gen 
erations  of  elect  American  youth.  In  this  way  the  religious 
nation  keeps  itself  young;  it  has  in  vision  the  spirit  of  the 
Divine  youth  Jesus,  before  whom  time  appeared  as  the 
field  of  the  apocalypse  of  his  Father:  "Heaven  and  earth 
shall  pass  away,  but  my  words  shall  not  pass  away";  it  re 
calls  the  enthusiasm  of  the  group  of  dauntless  youth  whom 
Jesus  commissioned  to  carry  the  news  of  his  kingdom  into 
all  the  world.  America  is  proud  of  her  youth;  she  means  to 
renew  her  youth  like  the  eagle;  she  is  resolved  to  make  it 
everlasting  in  the  creative  might  of  the  everlasting  God,  in 
whom  is  her  trust  for  herself  and  the  world. 


BRIEF   NOTES   ON   THE   AUTHORS 

Miss  MARGARET  SHERWOOD,  a  member  of  the  Wellesley 
College  Literature  Department,  has  been  a  frequent  contributor 
to  the  "Atlantic." 

MRS.  CORNELIA  A.  P.  COMER,  a  resident  of  Seattle,  is  not  only 
an  essayist  of  note  but  a  writer  of  short  stories  of  unusual  charm 
and  power.  She  is  represented  in  "Atlantic  Narratives  "  by  "The 
Preliminaries, "  critically  analyzed  by  Professor  Josiah  Royce  in 
his  "  Sources  of  Religious  Insight. " 

RANDOLPH  BOURNE,  who  died  in  1918  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
two,  had  already  attained  distinction  as  editorial  writer  for  the 
"Dial"  and  contributor  to  the  "Atlantic." 

ARTHUR  E.  MORGAN,  now  president  of  Antioch  College,  first 
gained  his  reputation  as  a  civil  engineer  connected  with  the  flood 
reclamation  project  at  Dayton,  Ohio.  His  essay,  "Education: 
The  Mastery  of  the  Arts  of  Life,"  was  one  of  the  early  and  pop 
ular  issues  of  "Atlantic  Readings." 

LE  BARON  RUSSELL  BRIGGS,  for  years  a  professor  at  Harvard 
University  and  President  of  Radcliffe  College,  is  known  also  for 
his  many  books  on  student  life. 

GEORGE  BOAS  is  a  member  of  the  Department  of  Public 
Speaking  in  the  University  of  California.  He  is  the  author  of 
"  What  Do  College  Professors  Know?  "  —  an  article  in  the  May, 
1921,  "Atlantic"  that  attracted  wide  attention. 

Miss  MARY  LEAL  HARKNESS  is  a  member  of  the  classical 
department  at  Newcomb  College,  New  Orleans.  She  is  one  of 
the  sturdiest  opponents  of  the  contemporary  school  of  educa 
tors  which  exalts  household  economics  at  the  expense  of  the 
humanities. 

HENRY  NOBLE  MACCRACKEN,  formerly  a  teacher  of  English 
at  Yale  University,  is  now  president  of  Vassar  College. 

WILLIAM  PETERS  REEVES,  a  graduate  of  Earlham  College, 
Richmond,  Indiana,  and  later  a  student  at  Johns  Hopkins,  has 
long  been  a  teacher  of  English  in  Kenyon  College,  Gambois,  Ohio. 

EDWARD  YEOMANS,  a  Chicago  manufacturer  by  vocation  and 
a  writer  by  avocation,  has  awakened  wide  interest  among  parents 
and  educators  by  his  book,  "  Shackled  Youth,"  published  by  the 


BRIEF  NOTES  ON  THE  AUTHORS  309 

Atlantic  Monthly  Press  in  1921.  His  messages  are  an  emphatic 
protest  against  formalism. 

HENRY  SEIDEL  CANBY,  for  several  years  a  professor  of  English 
in  the  Sheffield  Scientific  School  at  Yale,  is  now  the  literary 
editor  of  the  "New  York  Evening  Post."  He  is  represented  in 
"Atlantic  Narratives  "  by  his  virile  story,  "  Business  is  Business." 

J.  N.  LARNED,  late  a  librarian  in  Buffalo,  was  deeply  inter 
ested  in  social  and  ethical  questions.  He  is  well  known  for  his 
school  text  on  history.  During  his  lifetime  he  was  a  frequent 
contributor  to  the  "Atlantic." 

CHARLES  NORMAN  FAT,  who  has  for  many  years  been  en 
gaged  in  the  manufacturing  business,  is  now  living  in  Cambridge, 
Massachusetts. 

JOHN  MITCHELL,  from  boyhood  a  laborer  and  labor  organ 
izer,  was  for  nearly  ten  years  the  president  of  the  United  Mine 
Workers  of  America.  His  lectures  and  writings  were  devoted 
almost  entirely  to  the  theme  of  unionized  labor. 

CHARLES  F.  DOLE  was  from  1876  to  1916  the  minister  of 
the  First  Congregational  (Unitarian)  Church  in  Jamaica  Plain, 
Massachusetts.  He  has  written  many  books  on  religious,  social, 
and  ethical  themes. 

GINO  SPERANZA  is  a  practising  lawyer  in  New  York  City, 
who  has  accomplished  much  for  the  Italian  immigrant  and  for 
general  welfare  work. 

JOHN  KULAMER,  of  Czechoslovak  origin,  is  a  lawyer  of  Pitts 
burgh,  Pennsylvania. 

BERTRAND  RUSSELL  is  a  British  publicist  who  has  traveled 
widely  and  written  interestingly  —  sometimes  in  the  support  of 
radical  doctrines  —  upon  current  world  questions. 

MRS.  FRANCES  PARKINSON  KEYES  is  the  wife  of  Henry  Wilder 
Keyes,  U.S.  Senator  from  New  Hampshire.  Mrs.  Keyes  has  been 
an  active  member  of  many  civic  organizations.  Her  home  is  in 
North  Haverhill,  New  Hampshire. 

MRS.  ANNE  C.  E.  ALLINSON,  a  Greek  scholar,  is  a  member  of 
the  faculty  of  Boston  University.  She  has  been  a  frequent 
contributor  to  the  "Atlantic." 

DR.  GEORGE  A.  GORDON,  as  pastor  of  the  New  Old  South 
Church  in  Boston  and  as  a  writer  on  religious  themes,  has  been 
prominently  associated  with  the  more  advanced  ethical  thought 
of  the  United  States. 


QUESTIONS,  COMMENTS,  AND  SUGGESTIONS 
FOR  WRITING 


Youth  and  Age 

WHAT  are  the  specific  faults  that  the  old  generation  finds  with 
the  new?  Do  you  think  that  these  faults  really  exist?  Do  they 
exist  in  groups  large  enough  to  be  called  representative?  In  your 
own  environment,  —  town,  school,  college,  club,  or  fraternity,  — 
do  you  find  that  morals  and  manners  are  lax?  Upon  what  are 
your  standards  of  right  and  wrong  based  ?  What  instruction,  what 
examples,  have  you  and  your  friends  had?  What  improvements 
could  you  suggest?  Could  your  efforts  and  the  efforts  of  your 
friends  really  do  any  good?  Perhaps  there  is  nothing  wrong  at  all 
with  the  new  generation.  Have  you  ever  found  evidence  in  your 
reading  that  the  problem  is  a  recurrent  one? 

There  are  usually  two  ways  in  which  a  subject  may  be  treated. 
It  may  be  discussed ;  it  may  be  presented.  So  far,  various  methods 
of  discussion  have  been  suggested.  But  there  are  methods  of  pres 
entation,  too.  Describe  a  typical  lady  or  gentleman  of  the  old 
school.  Let  the  portrait  speak  for  itself.  Describe  a  dance,  a  house- 
party,  a  skating-party,  a  picnic,  a  play.  Make  your  descriptions 
present  your  idea  of  the  questions  under  discussion.  Or  perhaps 
you  can  write  a  story  or  a  narrative  sketch,  the  theme  of  which 
is  the  conflict  of  youth  and  age,  or,  better  still,  the  harmony  of 
youth  and  age.  Some  parents  get  on  famously  with  their  children 
—  can  you  tell  of  some?  Do  you  know  of  any  incidents  that  show 
heroism,  self-sacrifice,  and  devotion  to  duty,  of  young  people  of 
your  age?  Can  you  get  your  father  and  mother  to  parallel  these 
stories?  Can  you  parallel  theirs?  Your  reading  will  help.  Poets 
and  sages  have  fashioned  their  ideal  of  manhood  and  womanhood. 
Read  the  description  of  "the  virtuous  woman"  in  Proverbs;  read 
Wordsworth's  "Character  of  the  Happy  Warrior."  Can  you  find 
any  others? 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  WRITING  311 

OTHER  ATLANTIC  ARTICLES 

1.  Youth:  R.  Bourne;  vol.  109,  p.  433. 

2.  The  Younger  Generation:  an  Apologia:  A.  Hard;  vol.  107, 
p.  538. 

3.  The  Two  Generations:  R.  Bourne;  vol.  107,  p.  591. 

4.  The  Rising  Generation :    Letters  to  the  Editor;    vol.  107, 
p.  718. 

5.  This  Younger  Generation :  F.  G.  Peabody;  vol.  116,  p.  801. 

6.  Victorian  Hypocrisy:  A.  W.  Allen;  vol.  114,  p.  174. 

7.  "Polite  Society":  Mr.  Grundy;  vol.  125,  p.  606. 

8.  Reflections  of  a  Grundy  Cousin:  K.  F.  Gerould;  vol.  126, 
p.  157. 

9.  "These  Wild  Young  People,"  by  One  of  Them:  J.  F.  Car 
ter,  Jr.;  vol.  126,  p.  301. 

10.  Good-bye,  dear  Mr.  Grundy:  A  Last  Year's  Debutante; 
vol.  126,  p.  642. 

11.  The  Revelation  of  the  Middle  Years:  C.  A.  P.  Comer;  vol. 
114,  p.  460. 

II 

Education 

What  new  ideas  about  education  do  you  find  in  these  essays? 
What  faults  are  pointed  out?  Are  they  real  faults?  Has  your 
education  been  especially  good?  or  bad?  dull?  inspiring?  What 
made  it  interesting?  Do  you  wish  that  you  had  studied  Latin? 
Or  are  you  sorry  that  you  did?  Should  you  care  to  have  your 
brother  or  sister  go  through  your  experience  in  school?  Should 
you  like  to  dream  out  an  ideal  school -system?  Can  you  find  out 
whether  anybody  ever  dreamed  about  one?  Do  you  wish  that 
your  work  had  been  harder?  your  teachers  stricter?  What  can  you 
find  out  about  school  in  the  old  days?  in  other  countries?  Your 
father  and  your  mother  ought  to  help  you  here.  Are  you  glad  that 
you  went  (or  did  not  go)  to  public  school?  Do  you  think  that 
everybody  ought  to  go  to  public  school?  How  is  private  school 
different  from  public  school?  People  seem  rather  doubtful,  some 
times,  of  the  value  of  American  education.  Are  they  teachers  or 
students?  Why  do  teachers  get  discouraged?  What  makes  a  good 
teacher?  What  makes  a  good  student?  It  has  been  said  that 
there  are  no  uninteresting  subjects  —  there  are  only  uninterested 
students. 


312  QUESTIONS,  COMMENTS, 

Try  the  preservative  way  of  handling  some  of  the  questions 
raised  by  the  essays.  Describe  your  school.  Make  a  portrait  of  a 
good  teacher,  of  an  interesting  class,  of  a  particularly  good  student. 
Imagine  yourself  a  visitor  from  a  far  country.  Tell  what  you  see. 
Describe  the  school  which  you  would  make  if  you  could.  Try 
a  dialogue  between  teacher  and  student,  between  two  students, 
between  tax-payer  and  teacher.  Dialogues  about  education  are 
difficult  because  one  seldom  hears  intelligent  conversation  about 
education.  Have  you  ever  heard  any?  Reproduce  it. 

OTHER  ATLANTIC  ARTICLES 

1.  Education  as  a  Political  Institution:  B.  Russell;  vol.  117, 
p.  750. 

2.  In  the  Dame  School  of  Experience:  an  Interview  with  an 
Educator:  S.  M.  Crothers;  vol.  124,  p.  337. 

3.  Alice  and  Education:  F.  B.  R.  Hellems;  vol.  Ill,  p.  256. 

4.  Aristocratic  and  Democratic  Education:  A.  Flexner;  vol. 
108,  p.  386. 

5.  Education  as  Mental  Discipline:    A.  Flexner;    vol.  119, 
p.  452. 

6.  The  Case  against  Compulsory  Latin:  C.  W.  Eliot;  vol.  119, 
p.  352. 

7.  High  Schools  and  Classics:  F.  Irland;  vol.  124,  p.  47. 

8.  Some  Fallacies  in  the  Modern  Educational  Scheme:  A.  E. 
Stearns;  vol.  118,  p.  641. 

9.  The  Assault  on  Humanism:  P.  Shorey ;  vol.  119,  p.  793,  and 
vol.  120,  p.  94. 

10.  The  Extirpation  of  Culture:   K.   F.   Gerould;   vol.   116, 
p.  445. 

11.  The  Case  for  Humility:  R.  K.  Hack;  vol.  121,  p.  222. 

12.  The  College:  an  Undergraduate  View:  R.  Bourne;  vol.  108, 
p.  667. 

13.  A  Suit  against  Science:  H.  R.  Sass;  vol.  113,  p.  702. 

14.  History  —  Quick  or  Dead:  W.  R.  Thayer;Vol.  122,  p.  635. 

15.  A  Teacher  of  History:  E.  Yeomans;  vol.  125,  p.  369. 

16.  Geography:  E.  Yeomans;  vol.  125,  p.  167. 

17.  The  School  Shop:  E.  Yeomans;  vol.  125,  p.  813. 

18.  What  of  Coeducation?   Z.  Gale;  vol.  114,  p.  95. 

19.  The  Education  of  the  Girl:  M.  L.  Harkness;  vol.   113, 
p.  324. 


AND  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  WRITING  313 

20.  One  View  of  Domestic  Science:  M.  L.  Harkness;  vol.  108, 
p.  474. 

21.  A  Boarding-School  Inquiry:  E.  W.  Parmelee;  vol.  125, 
p.  95. 

22.  A  Democratic  School:  J.  G.  Cozzens;  vol.  125,  p.  383. 

23.  An  Educational  Emergency:  E.  O.  Sisson;  vol.  106,  p.  54. 


Ill 

The  Life  of  the  Nation 

What  is  the  spirit  of  your  fellow  citizens?  How  do  they  look 
at  life?  What  things  do  they  seem  to  hold  most  important?  What 
do  they  think  about  ?  By  what  ideas  and  emotions  are  they  moved  ? 
What  concrete  forms  do  their  aspirations  assume?  Are  there  dis 
tinct  classes  in  your  town?  Is  there  any  attempt  to  promote  com 
munity  spirit?  Can  you  make  any  suggestions?  What  is  social 
democracy?  Do  you  know  any  men  and  women  in  your  town  who 
seem  to  you  good  examples  of  Americanism?  What  do  you  think 
are  the  fundamentals  of  American  life,  "when  the  tumult  and  the 
shouting  dies"?  Your  parents  may  be  able  to  tell  you  about 
changes  which  have  come  over  your  community.  Have  those 
changes  been  for  the  better  or  the  worse?  Must  they  continue 
blindly,  or  can  you  and  your  friends  direct  them? 

Who  governs  America?  What  are  some  of  the  political  institu 
tions  peculiar  to  America?  What  are  some  institutions  which  re 
semble  those  of  foreign  countries?  Can  you  define  "democracy" 
as  it  exists  here?  How  does  it  differ  from  other  democracies? 
With  what  political  institutions  have  you  come  in  direct  contact? 
What  institutions  indirectly  affect  your  life?  What  political 
questions  are  being  talked  of  now? 

After  you  have  learned  about  the  American  system  of  political 
democracy,  you  will  find  plenty  of  people  to  find  fault  with  it. 
There  are  plenty  of  people  ready  to  give  you  their  views.  And 
there  is  an  immense  amount  of  material  available  outside  of 
books  and  magazines.  The  members  of  your  city  government, 
local  politicians,  interested  voters,  uninterested  voters,  newspaper 
men  —  they  will  all  talk  to  you.  Visit  the  city  council  in  some 
session,  and  observe.  If  you  can,  go  to  the  state  house  and  see  the 
legislature.  In  every  community  there  are  political  meetings  of  all 
the  parties,  which  will  help  you  to  take  the  measure  of  the  men 


314  QUESTIONS,  COMMENTS, 

who  want  to  wield  power.  What  things  do  you  think  are  wrong 
with  our  political  system?  What  things  must  be  right  that  our 
government  should  have  so  long  endured? 

There  is  no  richer  field  of  material  than  the  economic  life  of  the 
community. 

What  industries  are  in  your  community?  What  do  they  make? 
Where  do  they  obtain  their  raw  material?  Where  do  they  sell 
their  product?  How  are  their  plants  organized?  What  effect  have 
they  upon  your  community?  What  kind  of  people  work  for  them? 
Are  their  employees  organized  in  unions?  Have  there  ever  been 
strikes  or  lockouts  in  your  town?  Have  industrial  conditions 
changed  of  late?  How  does  a  man  "get  a  job"?  If  you  had  to  "go 
to  work"  in  your  town,  what  should  you  do?  What  commodities 
are  sold  in  your  town?  Why  are  some  stores  larger  than  others? 
Why  do  your  parents  trade  where  they  do?  How  does  a  man 
"open  a  store"?  Why  do  stores  fail?  How  does  your  city  get  its 
meat,  its  milk,  its  clothing,  its  gasoline,  its  coal?  Are  there  any 
interesting  commercial  enterprises,  such  as  cooperative  stores,  in 
your  town? 

When  you  think  about  the  problems  of  your  community,  think 
in  concrete  terms.  Avoid  generalizations  that  cannot  be  proved 
by  observation  and  experience  —  don't  rely  wholly  upon  books 
and  magazines.  Don't,  for  instance,  worry  about  the  vague  and 
general  problems  of  "Americanization"  in  somebody  else's  town. 
Study  your  own  community.  Are  there  unassimilated  immigrants 
in  your  town?  Where  did  they  come  from?  What  kind  of  people 
are  they?  What  are  their  customs,  their  faults }>  their  virtues?  Are 
they  in  process  of  assimilation?  How?  What  agencies  are  helping 
them?  Are  the  public  schools  doing  anything?  the  churches?  in 
dustries?  civic  bodies?  Describe  some  typical  immigrants.  Try 
to  see  into  their  hearts  with  sympathy  and  understanding.  Don't 
take  general  statements  about  immigrants  on  trust:  find  out  for 
yourself.  Their  lives  are  full  of  interest  and  color.  Help  them  to 
assume  the  duties  of  citizens  of  a  new  country,  and  remember 
that  true  help  can  be  given  only  on  a  basis  of  understanding. 

Above  all,  keep  your  eyes  and  ears  open  to  the  color  and  life, 
the  glamour  and  harshness,  the  variety  and  monotony  of  the 
world  outside  your  school  and  college.  There  is  enough  material 
there  to  write  about  for  a  dozen  lifetimes. 


AND  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  WRITING  315 


OTHER  ATLANTIC  ARTICLES 

1.  American  Characteristics:  G.  Ferrero;  vol.  106,  p.  223. 

2.  Intellectual  America:  a  European;  vol.  125,  p.  188. 

3.  Redwood  Canyon:  H.  S.  Canby;  vol.  113,  p.  832. 

4.  The  Pace  that  Kills:  F.  M.  Hueffer;  vol.  107,  p.  670. 

5.  Americanism:  A.  Repplier;  vol.  117,  p.  289. 

6.  Trans-national  America:  R.  Bourne;  vol.  118,  p.  86. 

7.  "Scum  o'  the  Earth":  R.  H.  Schauffler;  vol.  108,  p.  614. 

8.  To  a  Citizen  of  the  Old  School:  S.  M.  Crothers;  vol.  109, 
p.  289. 

9.  The  Social  Order  in  an  American  Town:  R.  Bourne;  vol. 
Ill,  p.  227. 

10.  The  Ugly  City:  H.  J.  Smith;  vol.  124,  p.  27. 

11.  The  Provincial  American:  M.  Nicholson;  vol.  107,  p.  311. 

12.  The  Passing  of  the  Farmer:  R.  H.  Holmes;  vol.  110,  p.  517. 

13.  The  Matter  with  Us:  W.  S.  Rossiter;  vol.  106,  p.  787. 

14.  The  Direct-Primary  Experiment:  E.  Woollen;  vol.  110, 
p.  41. 

15.  Do  Our  Representatives  Represent?  F.  E.  Leupp;  vol.  114, 
p.  433. 

16.  Our  Irresponsible  State  Governments:  W.  D.  Hines;  vol. 
115,  p.  637. 

17.  The  Second-Rate  Man  in  Politics:  M.  Nicholson;  vol.  118, 
p.  175. 

18.  The  Unlimited  Franchise:  M.  Eastman;  vol.  108,  p.  46. 

19.  Prison  Cruelty:  F.  Tannenbaum;  vol.  125,  p.  433. 

20.  Sing  Sing:  an  Evolution:  F.  M.  White;  vol.  118,  p.  341. 

21.  The  Background  of  Prison  Cruelty:  Number  13;  vol.  126, 
p.  214. 

22.  The  Basic  Problem  of  Democracy :  W.  Lippmann. 
I.  What  Modern  Liberty  Means;  vol.  124,  p.  616. 

II.  Liberty  and  the  News;  vol.  124,  p.  779. 

23.  Press  Tendencies  and  Dangers:  O.  G.  Villard;  vol.  121, 
p.  62. 

24.  Immigration  and  the  Labor  Supply:  D.  D.  Lescohier;  vol. 
123,  p.  483. 

25.  Trade  Unions  and  Public  Policy.     Democracy  or  Dyna 
mite?  H.  R.  Mussey;  vol.  109,  p.  441. 

26.  The  Labor  Policy  of  the  American  Trusts:  C.  H.  Parker; 
vol.  125,  p.  225. 


316  QUESTIONS,  COMMENTS, 

27.  The  Technique  of  American  Industry:  C.  H.  Parker;  vol. 
125,  p.  12. 

28.  The  Human  Factor:  C.  Wight;  vol.  125,  p.  23. 

29.  Coal  and  Reconstruction:  G.  H.  Gushing;  vol.  125,  p.  119. 

30.  What  Industries  Are  Worth  Having?    F.  W.  Taussig;  vol. 
Ill,  p.  701. 

31.  My  Chinese  Fan:  H.  H.  Powers;  vol.  116,  p.  779. 

32.  Imagination  in  Business:  L.  F.  Deland;  vol.  103,  p.  433. 

33.  The  Call  of  the  Job;  R.  C.  Cabot;  vol.  112,  p.  599. 

34.  The  North  Dakota  Idea:  A.  Ruhl;  vol.  123,  p.  686. 

35.  Socialism  and  Human  Achievement:  J.  O.  Fagan;  vol.  107, 
p.  24. 

36.  Maxim  Silencers  for  Old  Wheezes:  S.  Deming;  vol.   115, 
p.  323. 

37.  Our  Instinctive  Idiocies:  S.  Deming;  vol.  113,  p.  585. 

38.  The  Revolutionary  Intellectual:  J.  S.  Shapiro;  vol.  125, 
p.  820. 

39.  The  Reaction  of  a  Radical;  vol.  124,  p.  714. 

40.  Consolations  of  the  Conservative:  A.  Repplier;  vol.  124, 
p.  760. 

IV 

International  Relations 

The  student  who  is  interested  in  writing  about  international 
relations  must  first  study  the  life  of  foreign  countries.  Let  him 
choose  some  country  and  ask  himself  such  questions  as  these. 
What  is  its  government?  What  is  its  history?  What  is  its  present 
economic  and  political  status?  What  relation  does  it  bear  to  the 
United  States?  to  other  countries?  How  do  people  of  the  country 
earn  a  living?  How  were  they  affected  by  the  war?  by  recon 
struction?  Does  it  send  immigrants  to  the  United  States?  Do 
they  fairly  represent  it?  What  is  its  probable  future?  What  has 
civilization  learned  from  it?  What  may  we  learn  to-day? 

From  concrete  details  the  student  may  well  pass  to  general  ideas. 
What  are  we  and  other  countries  doing  to  avoid  another  war? 
What  are  we  doing  to  establish  international  good-feeling?  How 
are  we  profiting  by  the  mistakes  of  the  past?  What  do  ordinary 
folk  know  about  international  relations?  What  sources  of  infor 
mation  are  open  to  them?  How  can  they  be  stimulated  to  further 
interest? 


AND  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  WRITING  317 

Finally,  the  student  ought  to  watch  the  international  trouble 
spots:  Russia,  Ireland,  the  Balkans,  South  America.  In  these 
places  time  will  move  swiftly  in  the  next  generation,  and  he  who 
is  really  prepared  for  life  will  keep  abreast  of  time. 

OTHER  ATLANTIC  ARTICLES 

1.  Manifest  Destiny  in  America:  H.  M.  Chittenden;  vol.  117, 
p.  48. 

2.  Destiny  not  Manifest:  H.  M.  Chittenden;  vol.  117,  p.  643. 

3.  The  Heart  of  the  Trouble  in  Mexico:  C.  Johnston;  vol.  124, 
p.  554. 

4.  The  Human  Side  of  Mexico:  C.  B.  Nordhoff;  vol.  124, 
p.  502. 

5.  Nicaragua  and  the  United  States:  C.  F.  Wicker;  vol.  119, 
p.  682. 

6.  The  Monroe  Doctrine:  an  Obsolete  Shibboleth;  H.  Bing- 
ham;  vol.  Ill,  p.  721. 

7.  The  Monroe  Doctrine  and  Latin  America:  F.  G.  Calderon; 
vol.  113,  p.  305. 

8.  The  Future  of  Central  Europe:  E.  D.  Durand;  vol.  125, 
p.  830. 

9.  The  United  States    and   the  League  of  Peace:   H.    N. 
Brailsford;  vol.  119,  p.  433. 

10.  Democracy  and  Diplomacy :  A.  Bullard;  vol.  119,  p.  491. 

11.  Democratic  Control  of  Foreign  Policy:  G.  L.  Dickinson; 
vol.  118,  p.  145. 

12.  Financial  Imperialism:  F.  C.  Howe;  vol.  120,  p.  477. 

13.  Shipping  and  World-Politics :  R.  G.  Gettell;  vol.  123,  p.  255. 

14.  Is  a  Permanent  Peace  Possible?     B.  Russell;  vol.  115, 
p.  367. 

V 

The  New  Position  of  Women 

The  student  who  would  write  about  the  new  position  of  women 
must  first  seek  knowledge. 

He  will  try  to  find  out  precisely  in  what  respects  the  position  of 
women  has  changed  hi  the  last  fifty  years.  How  has  women's 
dependence  on  men  changed?  In  what  ways  have  women  grown 
self-reliant?  What  new  fields  of  work  are  open  to  women?  How 
did  women  earn  their  living  —  when  they  had  to  —  fifty  years 
ago?  How  are  girls  whom  you  know  planning  to  earn  their  living 


318  QUESTIONS,  COMMENTS, 

now?  What  barriers  still  face  women?  How  did  women  win  the 
privilege  of  suffrage? 

He  will  try  to  understand  what  women  are  thinking  about  now. 
He  will  talk  with  women  who  are  busy  with  the  world's  work,  and 
women,  too,  who  quietly  keep  their  homes.  What  are  their  inter 
ests,  their  occupations,  their  prejudices,  their  limitations,  their 
social  activities,  their  problems,  and  their  aims  when  they  are 
conscious  of  themselves  as  participants  in  programmes  and  social 
movements? 

He  will  analyze  their  relations  to  the  civic,  social,  and  economic 
life  of  our  own  time.  What  is  the  effect  of  the  competition  of 
women  with  men  in  industrial  life?  How  have  women  and  their 
interests  affected  business :  the  retail  trade,  advertising,  books,  and 
magazines? 

He  will  find  out  about  the  status  of  women  in  other  countries : 
in  England,  France,  Eastern  Europe,  the  Orient. 

And  he  will  be  especially  interested  in  what  women  have  writ 
ten,  and  in  what  men  have  written  about  women.  European  lit 
erature  has  been  preoccupied  with  the  relations  between  women 
and  men.  WThat  women  have  figured  in  the  literature  that  you 
have  read  in  school  and  college?  In  what  respects  do  ideas  that 
you  have  gathered  from  your  reading  seem  valuable,  and  perti 
nent  to  modern  conditions?  in  what  respects  do  they  seem  out 
worn  and  merely  curious? 

No  subject  is  ridden  by  more  prejudices  than  this;  few  offer 
more  opportunities  for  shaky  generalizations.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  few  subjects  are  more  closely  bound  up  with  the  right  direc 
tion  of  our  common  life. 

OTHER  ATLANTIC  ARTICLES 

1.  The  Soulful  Sex:  W.  Follett;  vol.  125,  p.  736. 

2.  The  Mind  of  Woman:  H.  Ellis;  vol.  118,  p.  366. 

3.  Woman  and  Religion:  B.  I.  Bell;  vol.  117,  p.  378. 

4.  Feminist  Intentions:  W.  L.  George;  vol.  112,  p.  721. 

5.  Notes  on  the  Intelligence  of  Woman:  W.  L.  George;  vol. 
116,  p.  721. 

6.  Further  Notes  on  the  Intelligence  of  Woman :  W.  L.  George; 
vol.  117,  p.  99. 

7.  The  Unknown  Quantity  in  the  Woman  Problem:  E.  Wood- 
bridge;  vol.  113,  p.  510. 


AND  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  WRITING  319 

8.  The  Married  Woman's  Margin:  E.  Woodbridge;  vol.  116, 
p.  629. 

9.  Dress  and  the  Woman:  K.  F.  Gerould;  vol.  108,  p.  617. 

10.  Uniforms  for  Women:  W.  L.  George;  vol.  114,  p.  589. 

11.  Uniforms  for  Women:  Contributors'  Club;  vol.   115,   p. 
139. 

12.  The  Real  Cost  of  Dressing:  Contributors'  Club;  vol.  115, 
p.  138. 

13.  The  Vanishing  Lady:  C.  A.  P.  Comer;  vol.  108,  p.  721. 

14.  Honor  among  Women:  E.  Woodbridge;  vol.  110,  p.  588. 

15.  Women's  Honor:  Contributors'  Club;  vol.  110,  p.  855. 

16.  The  Economic  Independence  of  Women:  E.  Barnes;  vol. 
110,  p.  260. 

17.  The  Feminizing  of  Culture:  E.  Barnes;  vol.  109,  p.  770. 

18.  Women  in  Industry:  E.  Barnes;  vol.  110,  p.  116. 

19.  The  Woman  who  Writes:  W.  Kirkland;  vol.  118,  p.  46. 

20.  Girls:  R.  S.  V.  P.;  vol.  125,  p.  490. 

VI 

Religion  and  Personal  Life 

One's  personal  life  generally  needs  expression  in  character  and 
action  rather  than  in  writing.  Not  everybody  wishes  to  write 
about  his  religious  opinions;  most  of  us  find  such  matters  rather 
too  intimate  for  discussion.  And  yet  the  student  who  feels  deeply 
on  this  subject  may  well  clarify  his  ideas  by  writing  about  them. 
It  is  well,  too,  in  an  age  which  many  people  believe  to  be  one  of 
declining  faith,  to  face  the  social  problems  of  religion  clearly  and 
steadfastly.  He  who  will  write  about  them  needs  knowledge, 
humility,  tolerance  for  variations  in  method  of  observance  and 
forms  of  creed,  and  a  firm  and  abiding  faith  in  the  truths  that  lie 
at  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

OTHER  ATLANTIC  ARTICLES 

1.  The  Useless  Virtues:  R.  B.  Perry;  vol.  114,  p.  411. 

2.  The  Still  Small  Voice:  J.  Burroughs;  vol.  117,  p.  329. 

3.  The  Cultivation  of  Nonchalance:  E.  P.  Frost;  vol.  113, 
p.  644. 

4.  A  Plea  for  Erasmians:  C.  H.  A.  Wager;  vol.  114,  p.  83. 


320  QUESTIONS,  COMMENTS 

5.  The  Cult  of  the  Passing  Hour:  O.  W.  Firkins;  vol.  113, 
p.  661. 

6.  The  Virtue  of  Intolerance:  R.  K.  Root;  vol.  125,  p.  385. 

7.  The  Cheerful  Clan:  A.  Repplier;  vol.  125,  p.  748. 

8.  The  Ignominy  of  Being  Good:  M.  Eastman;  vol.  107, 
p.  131. 

9.  Our  Loss  of  Nerve:  A.  Repplier;  vol.  112,  p.  298. 

10.  At  Seventy-three  and  Beyond:  N.  V.  Wilson;  vol.  114 
p.  123. 

11.  De  Senectute:  H.  D.  Sedgwick;  vol.  Ill,  p.  163. 


STORY,  ESSAY,  AND  VERSE 

AN  ATLANTIC  ANTHOLOGY  FOR 
CLASSES  IN  LITERATURE 


Edited  by 
CHARLES  SWAIN  THOMAS  and  HARRY  GILBERT  PAUL 

This  volume  of  literature  selected  from  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  was  chosen  especially  to  fit  the  needs  of  senior 
high  school  and  junior  college  classes.  Those  who  are 
preparing  candidates  for  the  College  Entrance  Exam 
inations  will  find  here,  in  compact  form,  material  suffi 
cient  to  cover  the  requirements  in  the  short  story  and 
the  essay,  and  material  that  splendidly  represents 
the  best  in  modern  writing.  It  is  with  such  books  as 
this  that  the  teacher  can  best  secure  the  spontaneous 
and  individual  reactions  that  are  necessary  to  the  devel 
opment  of  that  selective  and  critical  power  which  is 
essential  to  the  study  of  literature. 

The  stories  in  this  volume  are  varied  in  interest  and 
in  type:  they  range  from  the  tragedy  of  Sir  Gilbert 
Parker's  Three  Commandments  in  the  Vulgar  Tongue  to 
the  inimitable  humor  of  Mark  Twain's  The  Canvasser's 
Tale;  they  include  the  conventional  short  story,  the 
sketch,  and  the  informal  narrative.  Atlantic  essays 
have  a  charm  and  a  fame  of  their  own;  those  included  in 
Story,  Essay,  and  Verse  are  true  to  the  Atlantic  tradition 
of  grace  and  excellence.  The  poetry  in  this  volume 
includes  Browning's  Prospice,  and  Chester  Firkins'  On 
the  Subway  Express.  Its  facets  are  many,  and  each  is 
perfectly  cut.  As  a  book  to  be  put  in  the  hands  of 
students  and  turned  to  throughout  the  year,  Story, 
Essay,  and  Verse  will  prove  an  ever-effective  stimulus 
to  the  enthusiasm 'and  effort  of  the  class. 

12mo,  bound  in  cloth.     Price  $1.50 


THE  ATLANTIC  BOOK  OF 
MODERN  PLAYS 

Edited  by  STERLING  ANDRTJS  LEONARD  of  the  University 
of  Wisconsin 

In  high  schools  and  colleges  throughout  the  country 
there  is  an  urgent  need  for  just  such  a  collection  as  this 
—  short  modern  plays  chosen  for  their  literary  and 
dramatic  power,  appropriate  for  class-study,  carefully 
edited,  and  assembled  in  an  attractive  and  inexpensive 
volume. 

Community  Theatres  and  Little  Theatres  all  over  the 
country  attest  the  people's  growing  appreciation  of  dra 
matic  art,  and  more  and  more  high  schools,  as  well  as 
colleges,  are  introducing  the  study  of  modern  drama  into 
their  curricula.  Under  these  circumstances,  the  Atlantic 
Book  of  Modern  Plays  comes  as  a  peculiarly  appropriate 
offering  for  those  who  intend  most  adequately  to  satisfy 
the  demands  of  progressive  education. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

THE  PHILOSOPHER  OF  BUTTER- 

BIGGENS Harold  Chapin 

SPREADING  THE  NEWS       .     .  Lady  Augusta  Gregory 

THE  BEGGAR  AND  THE  KING  William  Parkhurst 

TIDES George  Middleton 

ILE Eugene  O'Neill 

CAPTAIN  OF  THE  GATE      .      .  Beulah  Marie  Dix 

CAMPBELL  OF  KILMHOR     .      .  J.  A.  Ferguson 

THE  SUN John  Galsworthy 

THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS    .      .  Louise  Saunders 

FAME  AND  THE  POET   .      .      .  Lord  Dunsany 

GETTYSBURG Percy  MacKaye 

LoNESOME-LiKE       ....  Harold  Brighouse 

RIDERS  TO  THE  SEA     .      .     .  John  M.  Synge 

THE  LAND  OF  HEART'S  DESIRE  William  Butler  Yeats 

THE  RIDING  TO  LITHEND  .     .  Gordon  Bottomley 

12mo,  bound  in  cloth.  Price  $1.50 


The  Voice  of  Science  in 
Nineteenth-Century  Literature 

A  Selection  from  the  Works  of  Victorian  Scientists, 

Critics,  and  Poets,  Edited  by  ROBERT  E.  ROGERS  and 

HENRY  G.  PEARSON  of  the  Massachusetts  Institute  of 

Technology. 

The  English  Leaflet  (the  official  publication  of  the 
New  England  Association  of  Teachers  of  English)  in  its 
May  number  said  of  this  volume: 

The  reactions  of  men  of  letters  to  the  challenge  of  science,  in 
an  age  significant  both  for  literature  and  for  science.  The  col 
lection  is  worthy  of  study  in  all  technical  universities  and  in 
liberal  colleges  where  survey  courses  in  English  literature  are 
offered. 

THE  VOICE  OF  SCIENCE  IN 
NINETEENTH-CENTURY  LITERATURE 

includes  selections  from  all  the  leading  men  of  the  cen 
tury  —  Arnold,  Ruskin,  Foster,  Huxley,  Tyndall,  Ten 
nyson,  Browning,  Meredith,  Hardy,  Emerson,  Steven 
son,  and  others. 

Professor  Henry  G.  Pearson,  Head  of  the  Department 
of  English  and  History  at  the  Institute,  hi  his  introduc 
tion  to  this  volume  defines  its  purpose: 

Broadly  stated,  the  central  theme  of  the  book  is  man's  place 
in  the  universe,  considered  in  the  light  of  the  new  knowledge  and 
speculation  as  to  his  origin  and  destiny  which  the  scientific  study 
of  the  nineteenth  century  has  invoked.  ...  In  some  cases  the 
background  is  the  group  of  ideas  roughly  classed  under  the  word 
evolution;  in  others  it  is  some  characteristic  phase  of  religious 
feeling  or  ethical  or  theological  thought.  ... 

What  should  be  emphasized  on  the  side  of  history  is  not  the 
marshaling  of  fact,  of  things  done;  but  the  war  of  thought  in  one 
field  or  another. 

It  ia  the  man  of  genius  speaking  with  authority  to  those  of 
his  own  time  who  is  here  presented.  In  such  a  setting  his  voice 
has  still  its  ancient  power. 

Modern  teaching  demands  that  students  shall  be 
aroused  to  earnest  and  original  thinking.  This  collec 
tion  provides  the  necessary  "initial  impulse"  of  interest 
and  the  synthesis  of  fact  and  speculation  which  stimu 
late  individual  gropings  toward  the  truth.  The  class 
reaction  to  such  a  text  is  quick  and  creative. 

Circulars,  giving  table  of  contents,  sent  on  request. 

12mo,  bound  in  cloth.     Price  $2.00 


ATLANTIC  READINGS 

Interesting  and  Interpretative  Literature  in  Inexpensive 
Form  for  School  and  College  Classes 

1.  The  Lie By  Mary  Aniin 

The  story  of  a  small  Jewish  immigrant's  intense  loyalty 
to  America. 

2.  Ruggs  —  R.O.T.C.      .     .     By  William  Addleman  Ganoe 

An  instructive  and  humorous  story  of  the  military 
training  camp. 

3.  Jungle  Night By  William  Beebe 

A  descriptive  essay  of  unusual  beauty. 

4.  An  Englishwoman's 

Message By  Mrs.  A.  Burnett-Smith 

From  a  loyal  Englishwoman  in  war  time. 

5.  A  Father  to  His  Freshman  Son 
A  Father  to  His  Graduate  Girl 

By  Edward  Sanford  Martin 
Intimate  messages  from  a  wise  and  sympathetic  father. 

6.  A  Port  Said  Miscellany  .     ...    By  William  McFee 

A  personal  record  of  interesting  experiences  at  the  Port. 

7.  Education :  The  Mastery  of  the  Arts  of  Life 

By  Arthur  E.  Morgan 

An  essay  by  a  gifted  civil  engineer,  whose  views  of 
education  are  unhampered  by  academic  tradition. 

8.  Intensive  Living    .      ...     By  Cornelia  A.  P.  Comer 

Homely  philosophies  discussed  in  dialogue  form. 

9.  The  Preliminaries      .     .      .      By  Cornelia  A.  P.  Comer 

An  unusual  short-story,  with  a  keen  critical  comment 
by  Josiah  Royce. 

10.  The  Moral  Equivalent  of  War   .     .     By  William  James 

An  essay  by  America's  greatest  philosopher. 

11.  The  Study  of  Poetry By  Matthew  Arnold 

A  famous  essay  by  one  of  the  world's  greatest  literary 
critics. 

12.  Books By  Arthur  C.  Benson 

The  author  writes  charmingly  of  a  subject  that  he  loves. 

13.  On  Composition    ...  .     .    By  Lafcadio  Hearn 

An  illuminating  essay  on  the  art  of  writing. 

14.  The  Basic  Problem  of  Democracy     By  Walter  Lipjmiann 

A  significant  analysis  of  the  perversion  of  news  in  the 
public  press. 

15.  The  Pilgrims  of  Plymouth     .     .   By  Henry  Cabot  Lodge 

The   Pilgrim   Tercentenary   Oration  —  by   a   trained 
historian. 

(Each  15  cents,  except  number  15,  which  is  25  cents) 


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